A thorny root sprouts up,

 It grows into longing for what is not mine.

Faintly, I hear,

 "It is not in the right time".

And bitterness start to spread.

It turns to the darkest black,

But just before it settles in,

An echo ringing from the beginning of time rings out.

“It’s a blessing”, He says.

“Trust me”, He asks.

At once, the darkness flees.

It runs and hides;

It can't help itself.

At once, I query,
the cure to cease mistaking a blessing for a curse.

Timeless verity continues, 

"Keep your wonder.

Do not lose sight of my face"

I am undone.

Tonight words are not enough.

Letters next to letters followed by spaces, commas and periods surrender to the silence that rests in reverence to the beauty that has come forth from the past several months.

Beauty has its price and a trees roots get gnarled, but fruit that pleases the Master is always worth the cost.