a lone tree, hollowed and rotted through.

the wind blows, the senses dulled.

the fires have long since passed,

the truth revealed in the glimpses past all the dead branches.

 

The promise of Spring can’t come soon enough.

my branches long for the warmth,

clothed in leaves and bearing fruit of plenty.

The day will come, there is no doubt of that,

but when?

 

But as the winds strengthen the roots of the Tree,

So trials strengthen the faith of this Man.

 

Am I not worthy of a more glorious adversary?

must addiction in silence be my fight?

 

A gladiator so worn out from training to actually

contend makes for a dull performance.

 

Am I even made to fight for His Gospel?

What good does this faith do me, if I refuse to go a bear fruit?

 

“Jesus has saved my soul” I shout,

From the rooftops of my own mind.

 

“Jesus is an empty hope” shout my actions.

My sloth just as damaging as blasphemy

My idolatry of substances, my own golden calf.

 

Deliver me from myself, O, Lord.

This wilderness drains me.

 

Hope in the Father,

See His Spirit at work,

Respond to the reality in Jesus.