A Belief in the Order of Things

A row of trees. Not exactly a grove. A decorative feature,
one after another, designed to lead the eye,
seduce it into believing in patterns and paths,
a perfect linear progression to the manor house.

Designed. No randomness allowed.
Everything in a line.
Everything leading to something,
counter intuitive to your experience.

Still. It is restful, to see,
these long rows of decorative trees.
It is restful to believe in the order of things
beyond your control,

And Lord knows, we need the rest.
Chaos is exhausting. At some point
we either believe in a God of order,
an order we can not always percieve or understand,

or we lean on ourselves to sort through it all.

You are not strong enough for such tasks,
content enough to know that if I love,
God will sort the rest out, allowing
the madcap drama we insist on creating

to fall in place, despite itself. Allowing us
to plant trees all in a row, as if we were
powerful And perhaps we are.
Children, nothing more, emulating our father.

About this poem.

I felt empty this morning, so I did what I do on such days – went through my pictures till one captured me, then wrote, trying to understand why it called out. Most of my poems are about trying to understand, not because I know anything. I learned a long time ago about how little I know

A poem about faith. About love. About our need for order. About creativity. Poetry is never about one thing.

Tom