From A Spoiled Tree
We all have become the memories of strife;
mere remnants of human debris;
the spoiled love of both a husband and wife;
rotting fruits, from a spoiled tree.
Born as the children of promise and love;
apples of the Master’s eye;
created in a garden of thought, above;
we were God’s butterfly.
We were the flowers in the midst of weeds;
in god’s mystical garden above;
on his tree of life; we were the leaves;
blown by the winds of God’s love.
We each held the promise of what was to be;
with the perfumes of love in the air;
you were born to be you; and I, to be me;
each, given love’s gift, to share.
All of us, seeds of the Master’s legacy;
left rotting upon hallowed ground;
spoiled fruits of dishonor and vagrancy;
distorted illusions of sight and sound.
Today, many can relate, to a spoiled child;
not realizing; they broke the mold;
all those spoiled, must be reconciled;
tho only aware; when we grow old.
We were all born of the Lord God, begotten;
told we could be; what we wanted to be;
that life as a child; most all have forgotten;
we’re all rotting fruits, from a spoiled tree.
Monty 12/14/24. # 2,511