I feel shaky these days.
On the surface, all remains
But underneath the plates are drifting
The fault line is yawning
And stretching awake and shifting
All I know and need, but I
Do not cry out in fearful demands,
I wait in rigor
For His familiar hands
To pull me near
Again.
Oh how we strive
Within this realm of God and men
And all the while
The ivy climbs the wall and blooms again.
We build, we shape
And we destroy with fervent hands and yet
The dead seed underground
Will live again and not forget
Where to sink its roots
Or to the surface stretch.
viewingcamelot 