Saturday, July 25, 2009


Parable Of The Chain Saw

Cut down by a chain-saw
Ripped clean at the roots
Like an ancient saint fallen from grace
White rings expose to the angry sun
What tragedy a fallen tree makes
Like a homeless man’s empty hands
Cold in vacant pockets
Fingers fit through cloth holes
No shade will fill beneath its reach
No statement uttered by its strong trunk
A garden incomplete
A landscape undone
Like a man robbed of a future
Until from the root a sprout
A slender twig of defiant hope
Once again a tree will fill the void
Like a man hearing the Gospel
A clean cure and a new beginning
Someday it is likely
And when that happens
All depend on the roots
A thing seen like faith
There will be nothing you can do
Except trust the Creator of Trees
And wait through your seasons
For the silent hidden roots to
Produce that which reaches up
To the sky like worshiping hands


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(C) Adron Dozat