Born (Low Hanging Fruit)

He was borne on a branch

The low hanging fruit

Of the curse 

The bushel that hung from nails

Trellising tight stems to the frame

Spurs offering spurts of pyrrole red 

Cherry blood

Staked out for us

Coagulate cluster

Free falling water

Berry blue thread veins beneath 

Pluck the pickings

As you pass the tree

The juice flows free

The low hanging fruit

The cursed and the crushed

The pulp and the plumes

Pick the pluckings,

You can reach if you stand on your toes.

You will not surely die?

Eat, if you dare.

Borne

 The fruit is born on the branch

Not bloodied, nor blighted beware

But the fruit belongs to the tree

Budded, bloomed, becoming there

Born early on a late summers morning

Born glistening and shimmering in shivering air

As the sun rose over the orchard

Warming what e're it found there

Born at the sap of the saviour

Filling the branch with it's life

Born beautiful and pregnant with flavour

The light lilting the only mid-wife

Oh Branch what did you do to deserve this

From dead bark produce such succulent fruit

When your every downward intention

Saw pleasure as your own pursuit

But somehow you stayed connected

Through winter and storms and the rain

And processed the light and the water

And grew through the pain and the shame

And now borne on your branch is the nectar 

Of the love that heals the world

And the tree has produced through you

And his fruit is finally unfurled

Love, joy and peace and your patience

Kindness and goodness and faith

Full of gentleness and self control

Once you peel the pith of his grace