Was of the sacred instructions,
that commanded the parents of mankind
to replenish this mortal coil,
but it was more than bringing new souls
into the world’s valleys.
For by faith they drank of the Holy Spirit’s fount,
His moisture refreshing and giving energy
unto all creation.
And in the midst was the root of being,
a tree of humanity meant to thrive
by trusting in the Lord,
whereby we all sip on heaven’s purest waters,
able to love, to care and swim the stream of His will.
Drying and withered
is how that ancient spreading oak of our true essence
became when minds started looking at their shadows
as casting glory,
rather than towards the sky
where a divine sun provides us existence.
Forgetting how the storms He gives
are the source for what blesses,
ignoring the rain from immortal eyes,
shed in grieve when doubts about the eternal
are distilled as a carnal soda pop.
Inside where that trunk truly sprouts,
how it shrivels from neglect and often dies,
while man chases towards thickets
he thinks can be controlled
ever being parched within,
trying to drown the aridness
with a thirst for gold.
Honorable mention
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