Originally titled “Our Country Has Wicked Roots”
Our country has wicked roots,
That grew into wicked trees
Casting a shade onto the land.
Weeping willows
With burdened leaves
Crying tears from our ancestors,
Tears collected in the rivers amongst this land.
Pain passed with fluidity amid generations, flowing concurrently
Pain that will see no end until His return.
The Great Carpenter,
Who will craft a fresh land.
Uprooting the thick trunks of hatred & discord.
Carving,
cutting,
shaping,
restoring dull wood into a fine creation.
A novel table constructed.
One where we can all finally sit and break bread under a new,
splendidly incandescent
Light.
—
Writer Bio:
Olivia Chauntelle began writing poetry and creative short stories as a child, and through life’s twist and turns she has found her way back to writing as a creative outlet. Based in North Carolina; her other hobbies include playing musical instruments, watching movies for their film scores, and spending quality time with friends with hangouts full of deep talks and laughter.
Photo on Pexels.