Author Information
Death Dance
I hear your cries,
As limb from limb,
He strips you clean.
Deaf? Can he not hear?
First hand I witness,
Your trembling arms fall,
Gracefully to death.
Blind? Can he not see?
I inhale your freshness,
Your final seepage scent,
Helpless from my vantage,
Weeping as he bares you.
I taste the bitter root,
Of his dense negligence,
Spit it out repeatedly,
Ignorance saturates.
I feel the essence You!
Waft with ether angels,
Your death dance shrill -
Severed yard by yard.
I sense what he does not,
Your life-force forced to die,
Blurry stare, he only sees,
A cord of fresh-cut pine.
Shirley Harshenin
(C) 2001, October 26
All Rights Reserved
INTRESTING
Beautiful poem. I know how you feel; I have my own neighbours who have a penchant for cutting down beautiful trees. You're a very talented poet. :)
~Kate~
Hola i hope you
keep on writing
more poems in the
future your poems
are just so amazing.
ciao for now peace O:*).
Beautifully writen, although a little sad.
WOW. I can not think of anything else appropraite. I wrote something like this called soldier. . . I have a deep love for trees . . . .
Great poem! Thanks for sharing.
Well frankly I have been wanted to cut down two over grown forty year old Sycamores that are over taking the neighbourhood. Its the "pain" what keeps me from doing it.
Smilesz. hi there.~ I like your style for this -- very surreal and evocative, especially with those stark questions for the beginning stanzas. Superbly written. ~ and yes, it's such a waste and crime to deny one's life, simply cos it had grown out of use and want. ;) Welcome to postpoems... i will await more of your postings. Smilesz..
Your smooth style and stong imagery had me standing with you, but in protest of your neighbor destroying one of God's many miracles. Thanks Linda