THE UNFULFILLED SEED

By Yasen Vedrin

(Mortal Remains)

The unfulfilled seed aches inside,

After the bright and pouring rain.

The sower takes a breath, to stride,

And sows a Call across the plain.

And with full Faith he hopes anew,

That it will sprout both here and there,

So that within hard soil, true,

The grain will find a spark to share.

The time of grace flows, running fast,

From two pierced hands, wounded and deep,

But does it yield a hundredfold at last —

The heart that sunlit glances keep?

What kind of sorrow brings it fear?

What weed torments it with its guile,

If it cannot give back, sincere,

The Heavenly Gift, with even a smile?

The sower skips each mournful plea,

With many seeds upon the track,

For it is only God, we see,

Who bears human guilt upon His back.

And he will go on sowing wide

His Covenant around the land,

Even if freezing cold outside

Laps selfish human earth and sand.

The moment comes when from his sack

The final seed he will bestow,

And beaten by his fateful track,

In deep humility, kneel low.

He sowed unutterable words, defined

By the Comforter, pure and Blest,

But stumbled into winters blind,

And human chill struck down his chest.

What of it? He at least has tried,

His holy duty didn't freeze,

But with a Faith, open and wide,

He sought to rescue souls with ease.

An unfulfilled, lone seed is left

To ache within the sower’s care,

And today's cruel time, bereft,

Is like Golgotha everywhere…