Ther Vine Keeper

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Wednesday, July 11, 2012

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
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

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
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
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
i am but a servant
in the vineyard
a Vine Keeper
in the Garden of my Lorde

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


Janet said...

Spiritual/Beautiful and right on time...

W. S. Peters, Sr. said...

Thank you so much Dear One . . .