Fruit goes off.
It gets mushy and smelly,
losing its colour and beauty - losing its taste,
eventually drying out,
losing all resemblance of what it once was,
only good for waste.
But fruit nurtured by a master grower,
a seasoned gardener,
fruit watched and watered til ripe and at its peak,
this fruit is harvested, fermented,
blended til building to a fuller physique,
brought to full maturity til ready for the table
and the banquet where no one's poor
and no-one is able to maintain a semblance of meek.
- where the gardener and the wine maker,
sit at the top seats smiling their blessing.
And the table branches out
giving room enough for the whole family gathering.
And the feast to end all feasts begins.
John 15 - I am the true vine. Galatians 5 - The fruit of the Spirit. A mash up.
Let me read along the lines
Your sizzling warmth
Grape vine held out her soft hands
Red pine bow down and hold hands
Will they care not my shy look?
Love in dark woods that thrive lands.
Give me a place to put myself
I await on a storefront shelf
Give me a sole to lace with mine
The one for whom my heart doth pine
I miss the face that I know not
I'm blue like a forget-me-not
Just thinking about you
Wondering what you do
I love your eyes
Your hand in mine
I hate our goodbyes
And waiting for signs
You are a vine, and I am your rose
Loving you wholely, right down to my toes
I don't know who you are
But you cannot be far
I will know you someday
At least, that's what I pray
Voluminous v I n e s
producing the sweetest f r u I t s.
Growing with positivity and l o v e
all the way down to the r o o t s.
One snip was all it t o o k
to break the vines a p a r t.
Dead and extremely d a m a g e d
spraying black ink around the h e a r t.
Strangled in b r o k e n e s s
as lonely scissors cut the l i n e.
Growing the sweetest f r u I t s
and one snip just broke the v I n e.
You have a mother;
She doesn’t know
That I’ve given you a paper
That you have yet to throw.
In other words,
Your mom’s a ***.
Ahahah this vine is stuck in my head.
Here I am once more,
Trying to grasp what I can’t comprehend.
You speak to me in strange tongues.
Lesbian? I thought you were American.
I can't think of a poem to post today so here's a vine compilation because we're emo here.
A "poem" every day