Asher Blake’s Praise Poem #17

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Praise Poem #17

Walking beneath the cherry trees
he fell in love with the Phillipines.
Young sapling roots hug the tidal basin.

When the wind is stronger than the flower,
weak aching heads relinquish their beams.
Ripe they fall in a frenzy
of the five senses every spring.
Our heads look
to the spin,

the eye and skin brush the whirling dress,
but our mouths hold back
guessing.
Clouds are blooming like slow dancing
thinkers on the rain.

He was well seeded with his trees,
sprouted in the spring.
But he died in love beneath
the Filippino cherry trees,
passed Lethe in the floating arms
of uncut flowers
like children’s teeth.

His last hope was the breath
of a Filipino medic
that is still within his lungs.
Hopes hanging in his pulse,
life, then living death,
life, then dying all the death.

He holds his heart eyes open,
they stay eternally in windy breath,
when unshaken blossoms remain beholding Him,
in that very wind that is the vigor of the root.
In salted islands, and the eagle nest D.C.,
we take His body, preach His wounds,
for the Lord more beautiful
than cherry blossoms
rises first,
and keeps me clinging,
heart to beating heart.

Cherry Tree

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