To Reap That Sown

I’m looking at my garden now

To finally address the undergrowth

And roots choking my flowers.

To dig is one thing, the labor

Of a violent and passionate love.

To leave them is another,

Passive and observational;

Subtle transformation in acquiescence

And overt stagnancy.

To leave my garden entirely is yet

Another permission I can grant,

And start with peonies over yonder.

But my persimmon tree and roses

Are being eaten alive,

Slowly and with little decorum,

When I would prefer to reap my fruits

And blossoms planted with love.

So to the ground I go,

Parting humus, clay, and dry soil,

Grasping firmly and command

The outcome of my effort

It seems that there were foreign substances,

Being and parasites hidden in the unkempt mirk.

So I command once more,

And cleanse my fertile land

With golden flame

Untouched by time and illimitable in depth.

I touch the beginnings of avarice

And heal from there,

Planting seeds of magnolia and cherry,

Of apricot and lily,

Changing the nature of sunlight

And the reality of the rain that sprinkles.

My garden now flows in a different state of being,

Stronger having endured interlopers and opposition.

I stand with my garden.

How could anything withstand the law of Grace?

And it is upon this foundation that

Petals blossom, bear fruit

And live in the transmutation

Of all things observed.

To be planted again,

In a different garden

That may have need of purity and

Memory of hardship.

Ever so my garden expands

Taking life from higher

Expressions of creativity

Of peace and

Unconditional love.

What a pleasure.