Thursday, April 3, 2014

Terebinth by JD DeHart

Isaiah wrote about the stump
Left behind in the world
After the sweep of judgment fell
The oak and the terebinth remain

The sawed tree leaves a pattern
Ridges and narrow passageways
You could trace a star with
Its end a raw, gnarled appendage

Isaiah wrote about the ravaged
Field and ruin, while juxtaposed
With the remainders, the seed

The excerpt implies a peace
Larger than truth, that even when
Broken and crumbling, twisted
There is a small grain of hope

It lies beneath the surface, small
Inclination of a behemoth below

Blessing is a small wordless child
Sitting amid the curses and fears.