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Cultivation of The Soul



Axiom’s sophomore class has been considering poetry this semester; its nature, purpose, and propriety. The weaving of thoughts culminated in orations and poems, looking to exercise that which we have birthed in discussion.


May you be gifted to receive this peek into the heart of our community through the words of Gabby Betts, Axiom sophomore:


I open the vulnerability gate to my garden, an array of colors meets my eyes,

Some gray lonely areas,

A few patches of joyous wildflowers — areas longing for nourishment,

Areas overly cared for.

Cultivating this garden is the hardest task of all. First I begin with nurturing.

I begin with the bluebells,

They once appeared healthy in my eyes,

Now they appear mildly wilted,

Their once bluish-gray hue seems dampened,

I pour nourishment over these, I pay close attention to

The way they display themselves,

I pray over them, feeling guilty when they fall from their beauty.

I then work on my snapdragons,

They are a beautiful flower, good, just, and Glorifying


To my God,

However, certain seasons my snapdragons overgrow,

They begin to cast shadows,

I prune them, praying my pruning doesn’t make way for Evil to enter my garden or the gardens of those near to me.

I stumble across a dry patch,

I look at my blue irises,

Their weak roughness is by all means my doing,

I was busy watering other aspects of my garden

When I should have showered the irises with love and care,

I’ll water them on Sunday and Wednesday night I

Whisper to myself,

Guilt plunges,

You see, my garden operates in Chronos.

I water my plants and hasten on to my next task,

I must complete all my responsibilities before a certain time,

I cultivate my garden, but what if I cultivated its perception of time? Perhaps through Kairos I would be constantly bettering my garden. My irises might not be so dry.

I know to spare these of their dryness, I must consistently

Add a rich fertilizer, God's word.

How does it still live throughout constant flux?


Blue irises come with a promise, they will never die out. Perhaps it was a year of jubilee or distraction.

Daffodils and bleeding hearts randomly appear in this garden, I have no control over these flowers,

The Gardener cares for these, not one escapes His eye,

He grieves with me,

But I need not fret over these frail flowers, The Gardener has a plan for each petal. Sometimes his plans hurt me,

It’s like a fire,

Painful, but necessary,

After all, only scorched pine cones bring new life.

Weeds spring up in flourishing areas. The ground wars against me,

The very core of my garden riots,

I tear these weeds out,

Begone anger, jealousy, and self righteousness,

Often these weeds look appealing, beautiful sometimes,

I’m tempted into thinking these weeds benefit my garden, Perhaps the red in the anger compliments the white in the lilies,

Maybe the green tint in jealousy makes this garden more exciting,


The list goes on and on,

More and more weeds pop up.

Cultivation of my garden is harsh,

I get cut by weeds,

Flowers need continual nurturing,

My garden becomes locked in years of Chronos,

And Kairos whispers the promise of healthier — The Gardener comes in to prune,

All is benefitted,

Cultivation of the garden is our purpose,

Our purpose would never be easy,

It’s a struggle,

“Thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you”,

But it’s only through cultivation where my garden bears fruit.


- Gabby Betts

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