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The Cedar Is Me

I look upon the four hundred year old Cedar tree

That has survived such chaos, death, decimation

Of great forests of pine trees by invaders who ‘free’

It of its natural resources, life, and vegetation.

Encased in the trunk of the ancient tree, the world

Is small, burning hot under the summer sun, flashing

It’s heat and brilliance to help everything grow into a postcard

That’s photoshopped into being breathtaking

In its organized life, only disturbed by humans barking

Out order for dissolving the inner and outer beauty of its solitude.

Slipping out of the of the cedar tree, I take my human form

And gaze astounded on my reflection: wrinkled skin,

Darkened splotches, and great disillusionment

Darkens the depth of my eyes as I lay bare upon the bank.

The scenes of war and decimation I witnessed

Have been imprinted on my soul, waiting for any deed

That will alleviate my despair that humanity is a dying breed

That needs new blood, ingenuity, and values

To help it defeat famine, war, racism, and religious discriminations.

By Malakkc

I'm a Canadian whose life has been interesting as I've lived in Developing countries and here. The contrast of law, order, and amenities available to us Canadians (which we take for granted, sometimes) to war torn civil wars is enormous. It leaves an influence upon the soul that cries out for justice. My poetry and writing reflect that and more.

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