From the Tree, a Chair


A chair--
Wooden framed and square,
Ancient and wounded.
I desired repose,
But could I trust Him
To hold my burden?
I reached to feel Him.
A dent in His side,
Two damaged armrests.
But sturdy? Perhaps.
Slowly, fearfully
I humbled myself
Into His embrace,
Depending on Him.
He proved trustworthy
And resilient.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem