Monday, April 4, 2011
…he drew up his feet upon the bed, and died.
And he was gathered to his people.
Zizyphus jujuba, your fruit is born
In infant innocence, nestled within
Zion’s crowning hills – a tender flesh to thorn,
You yoke your destiny to the branch of men.
Passions dulled by your fruit, the Lotus Men
Hibernate in dreams, eschewing your thorn,
Undulating in a slow reign within
Souls that die to life and live to be born.
Jacob nominated death’s land at last,
Ushering in the end of the beginning
Just as Adam brought Eden’s conclusion
Under the guise of fruit with thorn that would last
Beyond his children’s fathers by beginning
A generation without conclusion.
Posted by JOB at 1:48 PM