There is a Garden

Among the hysterics of history

Glistening in the grieving graveyard

Where seeds deposited possibilities

There is belief

Amidst the cracked crevices of

Dried up dirt

Love makes its way to the surface

Covering over battlefields of broken dreams

Spreading its wings over every wound and

Weaving traumatic turmoil into a timeline

Tracing fingers along the finery

Of delicate feathers of faith and frailty

Finally finding something to hold onto

Climbing through caverns of cruelty and crisis

Clinging to victorious vines

Willing wayward hearts into wholeness

This garden still grows