Wounded Woman and Crooked Tree

“There is nothing so terrible as activity without insight.” – Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Wounded woman went to crooked tree, and though its shade fell a little strangely, she said it met her needs. On a hot day in Arizona, wounded woman cried, said this sun is killing me, it must be this stupid tree’s pride. For if, it would just straighten its arm up above, and condition itself to accept my love. It is not as if I am expecting it to come down to me, all I want is a little structural relevancy. Wounded woman tore her blouse and she covered her burns with sand, she said she really did not understand, the crooked tree, and she raised her burning hand. Said she doubted that the crooked tree would ever change. Still she would wait another day. Yes, she would wait another day.

Brother Jensen, preached his sermon to an empty seat, and he thought the words outside would bring a sinner’s defeat. With just the right amount of venom spent the righteous ground to a bitter rent. The reverend could not recall why his church was empty at all. As “Eleanor Rigby” plays nearby, Brother Jensen sinks inside. How can unrepentant man, dig deeper into sin, oh the ocean is so wide? Would the water of truth wash all sins away, were it as a purifying fire, vetted forth in a righteous kind of way? Brother Jensen looks to the mirror, perhaps more practice to bring the sinner to the way. Yes, he should preach another day.

See you government, see you queens, standing over, what they glean. Stand’s the master under blue sky, over the beggar, who do not know why. What is parliament, and the master hand, when the sky is cracked, and still they stand? Do they wonder why toil and fears? Term they weakness of a thousand tears. Still they look on at another day. Yes, they would wait another day. – 03.23.2018 – דָּנִיֵּאל