The body is not the enemy

But more like a child at play

That needs to be educated in time

That it will never have things its own way.

The mind is the garden and the serpent and the apple

All wrapped up together in one

But it will not admit

That it was by that snake bit

And forever is under the gun,

Except for the salvation of the Spirit

And the life there bestowed through the Son

Where the soul will return to the Father, All Good,

When the sense of the present is done.

I am too much the weary traveler;

I have through too many circles been spun,

So I seek just to pray in the garden a time

While I wait for my cross to be hung.

2012.04.16.1200 ©