Beyond the leaning trees there is a place
To lay my head on strains of angel songs.
No gentle strumming there. Fiery throngs
await the victor’s prize, His blazing grace.
Beyond the leaning trees I reach to brace
Myself from fluttering wings of black swans
Rising to the sky in rapture. Their psalms,
Once promising plumed escape, now erased.
Beyond the leaning trees of war I do
Not strive for safety, just sanctuary to
Harbor my soul. My salvation, His breath
Of life. An offering of morning dew
To quench the burning sins I once knew.
Beyond the leaning trees
but never beyond His breadth.
“Trees” is this month’s theme at Every Day Poems. Thursday’s challenge was to use “Beyond the leaning trees” as the opener, repeating phrase, or ending. I chose all three and mixed it with sort of a sonnet.