My Apple Tree

Here we go again....the same ole lemon growing on my same ole apple tree and I don't know what to do and doubt there are any words even from sweetest lips that could soften the blow to my heart. Still playing my part in a script of life and I've lost my line, so I rehearse the same verse looking for a difference.... always one key off tune and one pitch short of my perfect melody.

Too many dead leaves on the short branches of my apple tree and I don't know how much life is left in my roots...how much breath left in my dreams of joining the heights of those casting a shadow on my thoughts. So I sit and wait for a breeze to ignite all that is inside me. Standing the tallest of the shortest apple trees I want to nourish His people but have starved myself past the point of no return....but still lies hope deep in there....a place with no name so it can not be found. Hidden among insecurities that have overstayed a welcome that I never extended.

Underneath my manicured bark is a wide, open space with no room for a room of its own. An empty space full of the things that mean so much...but still not a space of his own.

So I bury my roots in shallow earth so that the wind will come along and finish what I have not the strength the begin. Taste not my fruit for it is forbidden and the one lemon spoils all the apples on my apple tree.

By Andrew J. Dorsey
Saturday - October 9, 2010 - 10:44 p.m.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Silly Thoughts

Should I even be thinking these thoughts or even writing these words? Lying here alone in my bed thinking silly thoughts, ones that no one would dare to admit. Wondering where I was conceived - like the where would even matter if he who does not do what he was conceived to do. Wondering where the love of my life was conceived or had he even been conceived? These are the crazy things that crowd my mind and impede my senses. Struggling to make sense of senseless wonders and painless statements that no meaning. Reversed from my gradual ascension, I land here in the place where dreams lie to rest and vision are blurred by silly thoughts that gain strength from being still - not being moved to action. And with no motivation to believe, I find comfort, digging through piles of hollow pebbles, searching for the one stone that would add oxygen to a dying flame. Now where do I hide these silly thoughts that bounce in unequal patterns around in my head and I want to retract my feelings, but ...
Read more

What Kind of Man am I

What kind of man am I? I don't even know who I am...done spent the good part of my life in a constant state of change, being what they wanted me to be, doing things they needed done, desperately seeking, hoping to prove to them. But what kind of man am I? Never ever really defining self, my face an empty canvass...giving them paint brushes to draw on the face, driving me to a place where I move to the beat of their drum - dancing through a performance, directed by them, my insatiable audience. The performance I wish would end. So what kind of man am I? I want to break free f rom their chains, but the pains have become so familiar that I am afraid to move, afraid of the wounds that freedom expose. The comfort of my prison allows me to walk through life asleep, always hitting snooze on my dreams...dreams that lie dormant, with a lack of vision, infertile efforts discourage ascension. Periodically peeking my eye out of my cell, hoping to give hope a chance, but I sit and st...
Read more

Time Will

Feeling spiritually inclined I attempt to purge the pain with each line but still it's here and I wish I could erase the times when I stood outside me and watched myself break my own heart Like a helpless child afraid even to look his opressor in the eye I wonder how I became so estranged from myself. Once I knew who I was and where I wanted to be.  Now that me seems so far away. There is so much distance in the gap that even my bridge forged in tears and hope seems to be no match. So I hold fast to the thin shreds of faith that hold me still.  Shreds that keep me here when my mind has already abandoned its rented space. In auto pilot I crawl out of bed, I wash this vessel, I do my song and dance, and then I fall back into bed. I do take comfort in knowing that what I have not the strength or courage to do, as I coast through existance on auto pilot, time will. By Andrew J. Dorsey May 11, 2010 - 11:49 p.m.
Read more