better

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A new soul needs to inhabit new skin.
Old skin can’t take a new shape. It’s too thin
Not to crack by fermentation to foam,
Like naked green shoots erupting from stone.
New growth won’t accept the shape that I’m in.

I’m melting, I’m molting, I can’t seem to win
This game of evolving, of growing new limbs.
This stuff is so strange; what used to be home
Just seems better.

Fill me with wine, let new skin grow again.
Old shells can burst and fall, chaff for the wind
And rain to plant deep in paths that I’ve roamed
(perhaps to enrich the fallow to loam?)
Life in Law pales until life filled with Him
Just seems better.

He told them this parable: “No one tears a piece out of a new garment to patch an old one. Otherwise, they will have torn the new garment, and the patch from the new will not match the old. And no one pours new wine into old wineskins. Otherwise, the new wine will burst the skins; the wine will run out and the wineskins will be ruined. No, new wine must be poured into new wineskins. And no one after drinking old wine wants the new, for they say, ‘The old is better.’”
Luke 5:36‭-‬39

(Liturgical poetry during ordinary time after Pentecost is inspired by the parables of Luke. Photo by Linnea Wheeler.)

Words for the Church: Ordinary Time
difficult, divine

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