The Vines

When your Sister puts your own soul to words in gorgeous ways beyond what you are capable…you reblog. ❤

Charissa's Grace Notes


Poetry is woven into the warp and weft of this creation.  The balance of sunrise and sunset, the pace of the tides, the trill of the birds and the rustle of the winds in the trees.

On it goes…everything in harmony, or dissonance yet in time and rhythm.   Let my first written post be a poem I wrote called The Vines.  It is a poem about humans, really…about anyone who wants to become…more!  Better!  Higher!

The Vines

They are tortured, the best ones…
the vines
Planted in skeins of shitty shallow soil.
Plopped into rocky ruins of ancient volcanic thrashing
and bucking.

They Thirst!
They will not drink vinegar, ruined wine

But instead they dig
Roots compelled, FORCED past rocky reams
and veinous minerally walls.
For moisture.

The Vinedresser is compelled…not by cries
but by VISION and the future
of the wine to come

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