Orland Evangelical Free Church | The Wine Cart

Once upon a time I stood upon an ancient city's wall

by a people made who saw the wooded hills only;

who thought perhaps no farther than the next town

without a mystery overcame them.

They clutched that command of act they had

(which was craft)

and counted the relief in every blessing.

Truly their cathedral's spire pointed heaven like a compass.

What deception modern man lulls himself beneath

to believe he sees so much

yet tell himself he believes so little.

A screen of no animation shows him war and famine

but he shudders to look the body death on full

till a painter rosys flesh and frames it in silk.

This man,

this diamond of discernment

that cuts through nothing he can touch,

this gem of philosophy

that is all facets and no lines,

when he takes up the bottle and pours in the glass,

having never felt fear in the dust of stone,

nor ached in the plodding pace of laborers,

nor spoke a smile over wooden moaning carts

hauling wine up from the presses-

does he crave?