This I Believe:

How beautiful are dreams that have great powers,

when glimpsed as blooming buds from fallen flowers.

I’m a cracked mirror reflecting all that I have been,

so how can I become brand new? Let me

propose that there is more than mere descents

to cracked and fallen things. Falls hold complexities.

It’s my belief, we fall to rise again.

We make mistakes and we repent of them.

Repentance is what makes what’s been a fall,

become a call to rise, to change, to be

one turned around, to grow new shoots and in

the process find our roots have not

forsaken us. Their essence lives within.

Unbounded is the firmament and we,  beneath, are no less free.

Under an open sky, we see nature’s astir with new awakenings.

It breathes the breath of fire that’s turned to wind,

as do repentant souls who once had sinned.

As fallen pedals blend into earth’s soils, they’ve wrought       

a change, brought nourishment to roots of budding plants.

The soul which blooms is nourished by the thoughts

which in remorse, it’s dropped.  The circumstance

is one which we observe. The wrinkled bloom which  falls,

has hit a nerve, becomes the nourisher of brand new buds.

We too can bloom in recognition of 

that plant’s rebirth.  It lives not in the tombs of what once was,

but in awakenings that breathe of faith’s  ascensions out of death.  

Be unashamed to bury the old you.  Be done with him! Become brand new. 

Let your old man breathe out on flaming winds the times you fell.

Nurture repentance till with Mercy’s ransomed ones you come to dwell

as an unblemished alabaster bloom whose mastered passion burst from Triumph’s womb.