is what you become
What you feed yourself with
is what you will be
Anger, vengeance
even occasional
Can cause in tandem
a nasty temper
and an ever-ready weapon
Science, speculation
when chewed together
Breathe life into theories
bringing you neither nearer nor farther
from reality
Faith, ignorance
a dangerous concoction
Deceiving yourself
carrying on life as a mission
without real revelation
The roots we grow
The soil we consume
The water we soak in
The air we inhale
Will be judged by the fruits
that hang from our branches
I wonder if fruits
have I produced?
And if yes,
are they good?
Will I know it?
May I be pruned
instead of being barren
only to be chopped
into firewood
- and great is that fire
that never gets quenched.
Yet we were saved as stumps
not by our fruits
but by unmerited favour
from the Gardener
Still may our fruits
be pleasing for harvest
May we ever be
in His garden
- never to leave, as has happened before.
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