the walls they are a’crumbling

the heart is like a garden
with crumbling ruined walls,
which only bravest friends will scale.
the rest won’t try to climb at all.
foundation goes down very deep
and is the stronghold laid.
ascent itself is very steep
and slick with tangled vines is made.

there is a tree at center
with berries very sweet;
but this is not forbidden fruit.
it’s been grown for me to eat.
this garden has lain wasted
for far too many years.
its yield has not been tasted
But drenched with selfish pitying tears.

i  fancied myself hiding
behind the garden wall.
i fancied myself hiding.
that’s not the case at all.
i will climb these walls.
or bust them down myself.
for I was made to see inside,
not stand outside myself.

for Pastor Scott P. and all of your wisdom


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