Topic: Beat Of The Axe
This is a poem I wrote which I will let the reader interpret it whatever way they want it to mean.
Beat Of The Axe.
The language I lost to changed meanings.
Left in another time by those older than me.
Sometimes I catch little bits that I understand.
A beat of the axe comes from near as a once beautiful tree is split.
No longer together it is thrown into the fire.
All that remains is ashes.
In my memory it's strength is clear.
Vivid pictures unseen.
Connecting only to those who have passed down the same track.
Words expressed but not fully understood.
Twisted by listeners' ears.
Only my mother's and father's words are now fully understood by their generation.
Maybe another generation after I am gone will bring them back.
Maybe the forest will grow again.
Or will the axe just stop.