Cedar

But a Ceder Tree, before Thee.
Born before Thee walked.
On a barren peninsula of sand
stretching into the Sea.

Void of any alike.
Roots Twisted and gnarled.
The pain of holding oneself upright.
Where there is nothing
but the cutting sand to be Anchored by.

As the Winds have Blown,
Twisting its shape,
exposing Beauty from Pain.

As the Rain and Hail has scarred,
it waits.

Close by the ferry passes, never ending.
Waiting the day for one to depart.

Walk the sandy path to my base.
Lean against my trunk.
Sit below in the sand,
its only companion in Life,
Save the storms, harsh Sun and biting Cold.

Sit below,
giving reason
for its branches, trunk, that offer shade.
Protecting in a way no other can offer.

Such is My Wait.

Wait.

 

© Jack Brady, 2017, All Rights Reserved