Burning Bush

(Inspired by our Sunday sermon about Moses)

In the wasteland where no life should grow

Sat a single, thirsty bush, roots weak in the dry soil.

Rain was only a burden, a crushing flood of sorrows

And so, brought no relief to the fragile, lonely bush.

The desert sands roughly scathed the frail, thin branches

And no one sought protection from the sun there.

But not water, or calm days nor new grass was the answer.

Inconceivably, the thing to make the bush grow was fire,

Relentlessly hungry, consuming passionately all in its path,

And so it came upon the bush in a raging fury.

And yet, though burning brightly, the bush was not consumed.

The fire grew brighter as though fueled, but the bush was whole,

Standing firm and unharmed by the powerful flame.

But it certainly was affected, simply not on the outside;

Inside, the sap ran and bubbled, spawning new life within.

Growth was only then achieved by the fierce scalding,

The destruction of every irrelevant, outside influence.

Then, in the empty desert, dross removed, the bush flourished,

Consumed within and without with passionate, burning life.

What was once nothing is now a representation of hope.