"About the pomegranate I must say nothing, for its story is somewhat of a holy mystery." -Pausanias
I am in the hand of Persephone
I coaxed her from her home and mother
My poison seeped into her throat
As Hades whispered to her
Convinced her to remain with him
In the dark
With the dead.
I grew in the desert land
Alongside the Israelites
Out of Egypt.
I knew them in bondage
Felt the knife in my skin
Like the whip against theirs.
They cried to turn back to my kin
And I called out with them.
There is no shade.
My juice is dry.
I felt the scouts clasp me in their hands.
Could it be true?
Am I rescued?
But no, we had not believed
I had little faith
That they would come to pitch their tents beside me.
Its priests I have seen in splendor.
Solomon took my shape for his crown
I was the ruler of fruits.
I was a thing of beauty and promise.
I have been in God's presence
Decorated the robes of His priests
And clasped the sides of His Covenant Word.
My name is to "rise up"
"To be mounted up"
But how quickly and easily I fall.
How is it that I could be in the presence of a Holy God
And forget the weight I carry when I turn against Him?
How else could that sin which bruises and stains
Be cleansed except through the flow of blood.
My juice can only run so far.
I am lifted into the open hands of a Babe
My rind open so you can see
Where I have bled
What seeds were torn from me
And what He has replaced and remade.
The weight I took when I turned from Him was too heavy for me to bear
And yet, He chose me
To decorate the robes of His priests
And clasp the ends of His Covenant Word.
He let His blood flow
Further than mine ever could
And covered me completely.
My name is " rise"
"To be mounted up."
I have been buried and raised
With the One who holds me
And I mount up
On wings like eagles.