Created New

By the pond of illusions sits an old tired tree
Whose pace has fallen considerably
From when he was young and sprout,
Like an aching train grinds to surcease,
He remembers how it used to deceive.

Tides of situations had forged their front against him
Each time retreating with one more limb
Tweaking his habitual
Life each time from change to painful loss,
These tormenting memories made of grim.

Oh the many seasonal changes year after year
Dressed and undressed him leaving him bare
From youth to maturity
It was they that transformed him from one
Gentle tree into a harvest to spare

He ponders those forces uncontrollable vices
Through tedious ages him pestered,
Distracted by the pond's lure.
How he had closed his fists against life,
How he had missed all the joyful voices.

And resolves to near a complete conversional end,
Facing the rain, wind, trouble and pain,
All the seasons that made him,
Forgetting one ardent pond at last,
To embrace and enjoy the life to him lend.

Gnarled yet beautiful his story sings a tune
So true he forgot to listen to
The song from his creator
That while certain change may seem like loss
It's but by Christ our heavenly debut