I
a sapling
He
my protection
Shielded by his house
Storms swirled around me.
He nourished me
I trusted him
Until that fateful day.
His tongue cut
my branches
s p l a y
on the ground
My house was supposed to protect me.
But he broke me.
My house–an illusion.
Not made of brick but straw.
My Maker gathered my bruised twigs,
Transplanting me next to Him.
I snuggle close to my Maker’s house.
I am protected.
*Just a note: For those of you who worry, please don’t read into this. This is not a commentary on my current life. I was looking through old journals and had fun shaping a time when I learned to trust in God, not man into a poem. I hope you enjoy it.
Beautiful! I’m so thankful for God who will pick up the broken pieces so tenderly.
“His tongue cutting my branches…” What an image! It brings pruning to mind. Pruning hurts. Poetry is such a great way to say so many things at one time. Beautiful.