In Pursuit of Spring Comes January A Bridge across Time
The Wonder of Easter
In Pursuit of Spring Comes January
A Bridge across Time
Inside my soul I feel Januaryís barrenness, brittle branches
On the trees, leaves and limbs covered in icicles, hanging
Down over the earth like frosted teardrops are felt,
As in sadness frozen, yet promising to thaw.
The months pass toward a future moment and melt
Like renewal in the form of petals soaking up the vernal sun
Recreating itself while reaching for the vernal span,
My spirit while unfolding forgets yesterdayís pain.
Pain as piercing as the spiteful thorn, my soul is uninhibited by
Vanity, ungoverned by the threat of a transient June.
Like a rose bud basking, vibrating, and flowing to
The new energy of the season my soul blossoms
Tears of disappointment transforming into
Enlivened dewdrops on the corners of my
Mindís eye, new vision adjusting to the sunís rays
Flushing memories of dreary days gone by.
Anticipating a new season through a whispered prayer, a walk
Through the woods, the words of a friend.
Never alone, my soul like the seed yearns to mingle with the senses of
The wild, the natural and other hearts on the mend.
Connected over the passage of time as winter cedes to spring,
Restoration gives rise from the January freeze toward the
Long awaited thaw, the reversal of cold, culminating in an upswing,
The bridge from joy having sprung from sorrow, new hope for tomorrow.
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|The Wonder of Easter|
This Easter morní
The image of the Creator
Is in the semblance of
The eyes of believers.
The sun has been glimpsed in past years
During times of calamity and strife
The light of His salvation
In death as in life.
Uplifting a childís face
As upturned toward his parent,
Searching eagerly his benevolence,
Bestowing upon him with
Unconditional love, so Jesus Christ
Looks to us, not with a glance,
But a steadfast gaze, in seeing our
Admiration for Him this Easter Sunday.
If the sun rains rays of which reflect
An arc of rainbow the lasting effect,
And if the ark of Noah brings floods
The overflow never quite done
As his sacrifice like a watershed
Outpouring toward the parched
Restoring nourishment to what was deemed dead
What was merely resting, rose and marched.
The son reigns, his mercy washing over us
Like holy water, as a vessel a carrier of peace.
His suffering bearing the might of redemption.
His bearing of burdens complete spirit without cease.
© 2016 Joanne Dumas
Backgrounds by Marie
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