Waste of Granary and Winery
We stumble in fields where the shadows grow tall,
The granary’s empty, the heart feels so small.
A stranger inside, with no light to defend,
The winery whispers, “This road has no end.”
The waste piles high—our failures, our shame,
We curse at the heavens, yet it’s all the same.
The ego will mock, “You are nothing but dust,”
It drags us through filth, through desire and lust.
But hear me, my brothers, the waste is the key,
The trash of the journey builds Sukkah for thee.
What looks like rejection, like rot, like decay,
Becomes Clouds of Glory when we choose to stay.
Above reason we walk, though the night is severe,
We build from the garbage the roof of our year.
The Creator takes waste and He fashions it whole,
Till bestowal’s not secret but etched in the soul.
So don’t fear the failure, the hunger, the fight,
They’re bricks of the dwelling that shine in His light.
From ashes to dwelling, from broken to true,
The waste is the ladder He’s giving to you.
