The old man carved
Into the tree,
Spoke words only
Small children
Could hear.

His eyes, knolls
Studied by barn owls
As they serenaded
The night,
Shined with mirth
As adults shook
Their sensible heads
And marched onward.

The newest souls
Always stopped to
Marvel at his words,
As if they knew 

God’s wisdom so
Frequently over-
Complicated by
Their caretakers.

Every so often,
A child in an older
Body, would stop
And listen as they
Did in their youth.

It was they who exited
The forest both older
And younger than before.

I prayed as I tied the laces together,
Bowing my head over the red converse.
They were not shoes anymore, in my mind.
Only a promise.

A testament that no hand other than Gods’
Could untie the knot chucked high in the trees.

They hung dismally, striving for the ground,
Toward earthly things.

The plan He knitted in the womb, His providence,
Lay over the thread, cinching it together and
Aloft towards the heavens, until it was time
For Him to Untie me.

The fragility of my heart
Was pressed into a thinly
Chained locket, grown
Pale and tarnished
In the hands
Of all those who 

Thought they knew me.

They tried to pry me open,
Breaking their nails in
The attempt to
Find the one thing
That kept their words
From hurting me.

But if they opened the
Heart-shaped cavity, they

Would find only the
Emptiness that reminded
Me of the world’s promises
And their futility.

A necklace of the World
Could not hold the Love
God had threaded into
My heart for eternity.