Wineskins

Mystical poem written 4-1-24.

Tearing at my insides,
Like the stuffing of a toy,
Trying desperately to prove,
That I am real

In trust I turn to the Earth,
And the realm beneath the ground,
Fiery and cold by turns,
As the caves wind through the darkness

In earnest I turn to the skies,
To read the story in the clouds,
A tale of a new creature,
Born old and wary

In pain I turn to the seas,
The waters above and below the firmament,
Flowing out from the darkness,
In four winding rivers

In faith I turn to the flames,
Burning in the eyes of another,
The temporary tensions,
Stretching me taut like twine

Two trees grew in that Garden,
Showing us the poles of the world,
I took the fruit of both,
And made wine