Stripped of all my former glory
every adornment, achievement on the floor
exposed to the elements, bared to the storms
the wind threatening to remove my last source
till nothing remains but bark and twiggs and branches
but rooted deep, receiving from unseen waters
nothing on the outside, yet anchored on the inside
seemingly no hope, yet new life just a season away...
And even in the midst of winter
Birds still chirping on my arms, People still finding peace and shade in my limited stature...
Maybe winter isn't so bad after all...
Maybe winter strips us of all that is us, till our only hope is the water from within...
And maybe even with all the tears, and exposure, coldness and death, those who embrace and hold on
are allowing for a harvest of new life...
A seed has to die for new life to begin.
We remain oaks of righteousness in summer or winter because our righteousness stems from our depth in God...
This is only visible in winter.
Why does the oak remain?, even after rain, wind, storms, losing their leaves...
Because all along the strength of the oak was not the bright sunshine or the colourful spring, but the life within, the deep, inner, hidden, source...
The living water of John 4...
Our Christ within, the hope of Glory

We were sleeping in our sleeping bags
as a noise like a finger snap
did wake us and break
our dreams into shreds
and someone did shout:
"This is the night the heater went out!"
And no time was wasted, it was a riot in fact
everybody was leaving
not leaving the place intact
the curtains blackened
and there were screams and tears and hours of horrors
all inside seconds
and apocalyptic schemes were suspected in every can
of canned beans
there were prophets and saviors falling from the ceiling
2 for every human being
shouting madly:
"The heater needs healing!"
But no one was listening
because the terror was whisteling
and walking very casually
with his hands in his pockets
ripping the copper wires
out of every socket
there were trains of doom
at the station
and a man with a silver harpoon did ask for your ticket
and if you didn't have one,the handcuffs clicked
and clacked and out-clocked
the time that made sense
There were houses in flames
and extended familys were just moving in
and the undead were asking the living:
"Where have you been,
i was worried sick,
now go ahead and die,
i want you at home before sundown kid!"
the tv's were glaring and swearing
"******* humanity, look what we found!
it is, yes, a heater and god the almighty, it went out!"
and evil thoughts went through your head
like swarms of bats
that flap their wings blindely
bounce of the walls
and fall
like leaves fall in fall
and only this one lonely boy, kept dribbling his basketball
in the schools abandoned gymnastic hall
getting his kicks from the imagened ghost cheerleader chicks
who were dumb, dead and gone
like weak old twiggs on a tree
when a heavy wind blows on
And the lions escaped from the local zoo
and were keen to know
what it would be like, to drink coffe from your cup
and take a bath inside your bathtub
and take your girlfriend to latest movie about cleopatra
in the next drive-in theatre
and the skip of a heartbeat was the longest unit to measure
and your in the mist of mystery lost love
was a grain of sand and even lesser
and you couldn't prove gravity
with the fall of an apple
it would float right up, explode
into razorblades that would settle
into the boiling water inside of your kettle
and the shocking shopping malls
were selling shock-collars and chopping knifes
and socks for the afterlife
And under your homes paranoid roof
you found goofs doing spoofs to proof
how bad you could rhyme
and they would always leave but never in time
the icecapes were melting like a single raindrop in hell
so that the turtles would jump right out of their shell
and fly like cannonballs that are as fast as no one could tell
and the bees were humming but only bluenotes
taking the honey and also your money
thinking it's funny
the highways were lowdown
and the deepsea was wadeable
and your one and only favorite thrill
would knock you right back and make you ill
your favorite song would disappear
in the cracks of your ceiling
and would leave you with only one feeling
none feeling
and your favorite word in your favorite sentence
of you favorite book
would jump right of your hook
ending up in the water
getting cought by a trout
that would finally end up inside a whales mouth
"why bother" you say to yourself, but you feel like a ghost
"why bother" you say
and those two words bother you the most
it was the heat of the moment
the beat of a fear that is still unexplained
that made the heater a mountain
of all that you dread
in your head, hands and heart
and now we shall part...