the Vine-Keeper

the Vine-keeper

here sit i

in the Holiest of Holies

the Vine-keeper

embracing the passage of time

as she marches forth to harvest

i have nurtured the soils

of this garden

with a labor of love

and quiet expectation

my hands which knead forth promise

are covered with the fragrance of the earth

whose thirst is filled

by the sweat of my brow

i have exacted my duty

and continue so

through

that of the morrow

with an unrivaled love

that i may press the fruits

of my labor

to make a new wine

worthy of anointing

the lips of my Lorde,

for i am the Vine-keeper

and this is my charge

There is the sound of footprints

gracefully dancing upon my ear

“who goes there” i cry

and a voice volumous

and splendorous replies

“it is i, thy servant”

i understood not this speaking

for it was the voice of my Lorde

and i fall upon the ground

my face turned to the earth

as an reverent type fear

comes upon my entire essence

and consumes me

like a ravenous plague of plenty

for the Source of my being

my Progenitor Father

approaches

He bids me to rise

but i can not

of my own accord

nor may i look upon His presence

so i avert my eyes

as i realize

that i have been summoned

and sanctified

and all about me

i defied

for it, the world

has lost all import

i ask

Father, what would you have me do

how may i serve thee

name the task

for i am yours to command

please demand of me

that i may see

thy will

i pray i understand

and He spake unto me

with a certain sanctity of enmity

that stills the rush of life

all about me

and within me

He said to me

“Servant”

i have come

to eat of the labour

of thy love for me

give of me thine heart

which is mine

oh Vine Keeper

i humbled myself

for the flatterous embrace

of his words

ushered forth a pride

that i could not hide

i beamed brightly

for the light of his

which resides inside me

in my spirit

cause my heart to beat

with a fervor

and He and i

could hear it

i could feel an anticipatory longing

that manifested to my consciousness

as a holy song

as played from the strings of

a Holy Harp

like that of the Angels

who gather round the Throne

playing a music the day long

and the voice of my Lorde spoke

and said unto me

“I have come to eat of the labor of thy love for me”

“I have come for your fruit”

Feed me thy best

but know ye this . . .

Plumbs i have had

Pomegranates too

Apples have i had

but now i come to you

to satisfy the sum

of my longings

i come hither

to not taste of the bitter

but that of my wantings

and whimsical hauntings

to be filled

as i taste of the fruit

of thy tilled and nurtured garden

the spoils of thy soils,

i have come for the fruit

of thy Vine

that sweetest of grape

that has ravaged and raped

my senses

with a promise elated

yet not sated

won’t you feed me,

feed your Lorde

thy faithful servant

Upon his request

i found my self speechless

and speak . . . i could not

i could not mutter

nor utter

a word to be heard

all of me

was twisted

caught in this cataclysmic

state of orgasmic ecstasy

for the best of me

had just been revealed unto me

i was seeing

feeling

the death of me

the old me

as a verity of my life

came unto me

and graced me

with a surety

unrivaled by any means

this is what i had always

vied for

cried for

and this day

i shall die for

and i deny it no more

for

i am but a servant

in the vineyard

a Vine Keeper

in the Garden of my Lorde

© 11 July 2012 : William S. Peters, Sr.

http://www.iaminnerchild.com/

http://www.innerchildpress.com/