January 23, 2016

May Every Year Return, and You are Safe

Disclaimer: I rarely write poetry so proceed at your own peril.

It grows among trees greener,
than the cedars of Lebanon,
Upon hills and glens higher,
than the cliffs at sunset.
It rots in fields richer,
than pastures sated by blood,
In books unbound,
from the tyranny,
of ink.

Its timber, sold by leaders wiser,
than children learned of evil men,
becomes ships to sail,
the seas of history.
Its sound, holier,
than the symphony of a shattered city,
chokes the bells in their towers,
the waters, and their shores.
Its edge, sharper,
than the tongues of men forgotten,
sweetens life for him,
who tastes,
only bitterness.

Your children sit quietly,
his lie in silence.
You watch him through green glass,
he toils in red.
Time's hands move slowly,
he chases his shadow.
Some crops are watered with lies,
with truth.

Is your home inviolable,
to those who dwell,
inside the charnel house,
you watch in darkness?
Will it stand proud on the headland,
the tide beneath it,
or fall with the sweep of days,
leaving naught,
but sand?

Would you cast off the veil,
too long suffocating its charge?
Why have you hidden your face,
so long,
and forgotten its contours?

Take down the flags, dead on their poles,
for they burn in the day but fade,
at the going down,
of the sun.