This week's challenge? A poem ending with the words "The leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations"
This first was named delight. Here grew
Beauty. The pristine morning of the world
Sang with the stars, and all was loveliness.
And in the centre grew the tree of pain
The place of choosing, there to choose awry:
Tears turned to acid, burned with bitter dust,
The clamour of great falling. Death. Decay.
The dizzy flailing of a flaming sword.
Here olives grew and moonlight overwhelmed,
And in the shadows stood the terrible.
Death gaped and whispered through the echoing trees.
There was a dreadful shadow, as of thorns,
There was the cup of anguish offered, drunk,
And pure bright courage, trembling with great sweat,
Stepped forth near naked, only clothed in love
To be impaled upon the tree of life.
Here now I cultivate amongst the thorns,
And choke upon the stubborn, eager weeds,
And bear the burden of the barren rocks,
The rage of sun, the sullenness of flesh,
The misery of dreams unrealised.
How shall your true fruit grow in stony ground?
How shall your spirit labour with my flesh,
To bear the beauty of yourself in me?
And the last garden as a city comes
Dressed in her nuptial glory, without sun
Nor moon, nor death, nor any kind of pain.
The curse is gone, the living water flows
And he is on the throne, and we in him
To reign. And here one tree in glory grows
With never-failing fruit, and the leaves
Of the tree are for the healing of the nations.