Poem by Mark Wilson  Photo by Hannah Wilson

 Faith, the seed of heaven
 planted by surprise in earthen soil.

 The barren ground reluctantly invites, mostly disdains
 this small possibility of hope.

 Stirs slightly, irritated, yawns and then settles
 back in lazy slumber mostly convinced
 that the interruption is merely
 a burial of another empty dream.

 Entombed in heavy darkenss
 the seed of heaven sings
 as it reaches for a land beyond its grasp
 and hopes for the hand of God it cannot see.

 But no dark place can silence
 the song of faith and hope.
 And calloused soil cannot withstand
 for long refreshing rains.

 Slowly, steadily, the seed of heaven toils
 upward, onward,
 through the dark
 towards heaven's gate.

 Sometimes singing.
 Sometimes sighing.
 Always longing
 for destiny awaits.

 Heaven beckons,
 Earth responds.
 That is the order of
 all created things.

 The earthen tomb
 becomes a womb
 of life anew --
 and resurrection!

 A seed, a sprout, a stalk,
 and then a slendid crimson flower
 Blooming where it first began
 it's morning hour.

 Looking up to see the smile of God
 Looking down upon the sordid place
 from which it came.
 And bearing precious treasure. . .

 another measure . . . 

 of the seed of heaven -- faith!