The fastest way to writers block?

The attempt to be poetic.

Beauty isn’t made,

it’s stumbled upon.

 

The strange and unexpected.

The old and mundane,

reorganized

and given new life.

 

The twigs grow new flower buds.

The grass springs up in a slightly new pattern.

Acquaintances become friends,

close friendships turn to new family.

A cycle of new life,

the death of the old,

vital in its construction.

 

The Cross

the thesis of our world.

Evil exhausting everything it has,

the full extent of its ability,

death itself,

powerless,

against God.

No dark thought,

No evil scheme or deed,

the deepest

darkest parts

of the human psyche

powerless

 

The authority of God,

doing all his pleasure,

No matter what we have to say about it.