On the Vine

I am in the trenches of growth while learning,

like a vine that has not yet reached the blossom from which fruit is born.

In the darkening of this moment, it is like quicksilver striking its final chord before inheriting the golden hour.

It is the dawn of a new furrow, not yet ripe enough to carry its inheritance.

Still green and callused, as though eagerness itself has placed strain upon the vine. In this paradox, it is as though the jury of despair questions my soul before freedom is granted. For abiding truth is inherent, truth shall come when death follows, the final curtain falling gently to the ground.

Only then shall choice complete the redemption sought within the Kingdom of God.

The reckoning will be my own undoing as I sink into the despair of my agony.

This blackness is a curse long foretold through ages past, piercing my heart while also granting me freedom.

For it was chosen long ago to endure great pain and walk through sorrow. Empty cups shall be filled with joy, springing forth from an endless well of fortitude awakened from deep slumber.

The rest shall lie within the quiet aftermath of bitter decay, as all things are finally laid to rest.

So on the vine I will wait, gently basking in the unwinding of harsh time. For time is what has cast its shadow upon the earth, as we turn our backs on what has been given.

It is the utter humiliation of deep degradation long overdue, one taken for granted for far too long.

So judgment waits to strike upon us, bringing us to our knees so that we may find redemption within our darkest hour.

For this day shall come upon us like a new dream unfurled, and it will be a blessing beyond words to escape the fear of our loneliness.

For we shall rise as one when truth shatters the illusions of lost time.