Monday, September 19, 2016

The Substance of Things Hoped For...

The substance of things hoped for in the budded brogue of spring
Reveals its evidence in recompense of bronze and gold
The death of summer-long lies buried in September’s sting
Of rainbow-colored gardens spawned from small seed’s thunderous hold

The landscape is a picture of harvest half-gathered in
Where seed and deed have much in common; what we plant we reap
And we cannot afford to ignore harvest-heavy skin
Its mortal mist of Moment hinges to Unfathomed Deep

The faith we plant among the thorn and scorn of disbelief
Like seeds will, without fail prove what is good and pure and true
The substance of things hoped for in this life of strife and grief
Abides in spite of time’s much mulled and unexplained ado

Then pray, the purpose of our push and pull and heave and groan
With all its brief appointments of present soon ever-past
Is for far more than avatars of crumbling skin and bone
But Substance of things hoped for before Evidence at last

© Janet Martin

 Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!