Humanity grows from the stories it tells.
Roots, meaning, deeps, anchors, footsteps echoed in passage time.
The tree rises, strong, its branches a shelter,
its fruit a feast. Beneath its canopy,
banners unfurl—bold allegiance.
At the heart a ring,
a circle unbroken, binding covenant and unity,
a seal of enduring.
In the long age of forgetting,
trees wither,
banner hang limp,
rings lie discarded,
promise untold, undone.
But true lore? True lore is more precious than gold.
-The Tree-
Every tree is a life.
Its roots stretch from the dawn to the dusk,
its fruit blossoms of God’s provision.
Of Eden, where Life stood as feast,
sustenance of the holy.
But we turned,
shade turned violent,
gates closed barred tight,
Life hidden behind Fire.
But that is not all.
There is is an olive tree planted, firmly grounded,
its roots alive, its branches pruned and patient,
circumcised of heart, judged but not destroyed;
hope standing sure; grafting into the veins.
Ah, Golgatha! Tree that stumbles the nations!
Cross on a rising hill, place of death, font of life,
wooden redemption flowing true.
It is not floating on the surface;
dig deep, hold fast, bears fruit: heal the world.
-The Banner-
The banner is raised,
clear for all to see.
It calls, gathers, enlightens.
In the wilderness,
as Amalek fell,
Moses sang, “God’s Spirit is my banner!”
Isaiah saw the banner over him raised,
love for the nations,
the Messiah’s rule and reign,
Almighty God’s own protection.
O, Calvary! banner an high,
like a snake on a pole,
like a plank in the eye.
The body of the King,
high,
and lifted up.
“All men to Myself.”
It is not hidden in secret, but exalted high for all to see,
Bow down. Pledge allegiance. Follow the King.
-The Ring-
She binds.
She circles. She seals. She is united.
On the hands of kings,
power.
Of the covenants of God,
Signets.
No wax words—
Noah, Abraham, David—
unyielding,
eternal.
The prodigal wept,
the father restored.
not a servant,
but a son,
sonship on the hand,
inheritance encircling true.
Yes, bride of Christ! Immaculate One!
You, holy Church, wear the ring of matrimony.
Your Lord, the Bridegroom hosts a supper of heaven and earth.
It is not fleeting;
it binds, it endures, it seals,
us
to Him,
to each other.
-True Lore-
Is the tree uprooted?
Is your banner torn?
Has the dross of time and wear worn you to a sliver?
High above the clash of nations,
superior to the din of markets and the folly of cults,
the roots are deepness, the fabric is firmament,
and, to circle round to the spirit of the matter,
the poetry rings Tru.
