Poetry

How can a branch come from a stump. How does my heart so effortlessly pump.

Promises made that seem impossible. Fathers heart forgave the improbable.

Slowly, painfully, a shoot grows.
Circulation, life, a pulse.

Upward seeking it blooms.
Formed rock, an empty tomb.

Wayward limbs, downward spurs
Gardner trims fungus spores

Sap spills, lifeblood pours
Black heart turned to red

Bread the Body, wine the blood
Christ crimson, Eyes flood