Athens, Georgia
April 17, 2013 (revised March 11, 2015)
April 17, 2013 (revised March 11, 2015)
"So He drove the man out; and at the east of the garden of Eden He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life."
The songbirds seem not to have noticed
perfection having passed us by
last Tuesday week, the prime of spring
peaking in the predawn darkness:
1. The Peace of Imperfection
The songbirds seem not to have noticed
perfection having passed us by
last Tuesday week, the prime of spring
peaking in the predawn darkness:
first light
gracing east
a drift of breeze
the slightest hint
of scented whispers
wafting through
the inner senses
The flaming sword
that guards the garden
carves a chasm
deep inside
that fills us
with inchoate
longing, calling
Brother, sister, join the sparrow
wander unaware in Eden
claim what lies beyond mere joy.
We must decline – their souls inhabit different
realms from yours and mine. They still live
within the garden, lost in perfect flow
of being. We live East, the slaves of knowing.
Once again we’re left behind to tend
a freshly-fallen world, now dusted
with a set of gnats, green oak tree doodles
caught in cracks of splintered decks
and crumbling driveways; drooping dogwood
blossoms browned about the edges,
bright azaleas slightly faded –
signs of spring now going stale.
Still bearing the imprint of Eden inside us
while bursting with knowledge and moral awareness,
we build a home in the shadow of heaven
and make our peace with imperfection.
for Friday mornings after Easter,
one egg missing;
for tidy lawns with clover patches,
strewn with toys;
for joyful girls with reckless smiles
and saddened eyes;
or graceful curves of mountain vistas
cloaked in clouds;
for clever proofs of shrouded concepts
conjured out of troubled minds.
In sorrow and striving,
in coping and growing,
in desperate hope and untenable dreams,
a glory shines through imperfection.
gracing east
a drift of breeze
the slightest hint
of scented whispers
wafting through
the inner senses
The flaming sword
that guards the garden
carves a chasm
deep inside
that fills us
with inchoate
longing, calling
Brother, sister, join the sparrow
wander unaware in Eden
claim what lies beyond mere joy.
We must decline – their souls inhabit different
realms from yours and mine. They still live
within the garden, lost in perfect flow
of being. We live East, the slaves of knowing.
Once again we’re left behind to tend
a freshly-fallen world, now dusted
with a set of gnats, green oak tree doodles
caught in cracks of splintered decks
and crumbling driveways; drooping dogwood
blossoms browned about the edges,
bright azaleas slightly faded –
signs of spring now going stale.
Still bearing the imprint of Eden inside us
while bursting with knowledge and moral awareness,
we build a home in the shadow of heaven
and make our peace with imperfection.
2. In Praise of Unkempt Things
Praise to God for unkempt things
that grace our world with imperfection –for Friday mornings after Easter,
one egg missing;
for tidy lawns with clover patches,
strewn with toys;
for joyful girls with reckless smiles
and saddened eyes;
or graceful curves of mountain vistas
cloaked in clouds;
for clever proofs of shrouded concepts
conjured out of troubled minds.
In sorrow and striving,
in coping and growing,
in desperate hope and untenable dreams,
a glory shines through imperfection.
Love the relevance to biblical verse. Makes me marvel of an Eden experience, but there we go again. Well done! S Pilcher
ReplyDeleteYour "peace of imperfection" is just what I need to help me, with sadness, take a big step away from a friend. Thanks!
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