Witnesses Without A Voice Poem by martin elbin

Among the knurled and knotted wood
surrounded by the wild and scrub
of land baked well by summer's worst
there passed a tree, considerately spent.

Unlike the mighty trees well known
of other lands that fared as well
with highest praise as Lebanon's
some trees a chronicle has lent.

Sought out by those who labored
and toiled to breach these woods
for few within the ragged lands
where chosen, shorn, and finally sent.

Sweat on the brow rained down
upon such barbered limbs and leaves
smells of the forest's tears and blood
forgiven in a cause well meant.

Riven, bullied, scarred and torn
and lifted high to climb the crest
and buried deep the first few feet
held up by stones and slaves lament.

Stains burst forth the crosstie's hands
by nails pummeled to the flesh
trees can't wail of this despair
or gasp a final breath to vent.

Bowed down the beams with heavy death
waters, wines and vinegar's flow
patinas never will release
from wood grains stained by heaven sent.

Midday's heat beneath the shroud
could not release this stand from chills
atremble with approaching torture
surely man had planned and meant.

And by the third of afternoon
the sorely tested boughs
gave up along with anguished crowds
and inner strength and spirit went.

Akin to autumn finally fallen
left a tree alone at last
given up and taken down
in grief, will never man repent?

Further outraged to the last
torn down and burned without a thought
charred to coals the hoary cross
remembered times that can't relent.



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