The Confusion of the Modern Mind Leaves Much Behind
by Kenneth Bridge What sound is this? This whirring, whining, singing sound That pauses for a moment then bites deep again Releasing the sweet savor of cedar as sparks Tumble through the spreading canopy toward distant ground But something else, a fly in the ointment, An odor of decay, of carrion or rotting fruit Still clutching the branch with frozen, lifeless fingers No longer drawing life from deepest root Why assail the lofty tree whose ethereal branches dance in rarefied air? Rising from the corruption of the forest floor Rooted in revelation, fed by prophet's tears Reaching ever upward through endless years Tree of liberty and tree of sanctuary Asylum flowing through xylem and phloem Assuming its shape through some divine topiary The straightest and truest and tallest tree is of this wood most fair The soul of the bole is the cross of Christ that crossed the Hellespont with Saul Who became Paul and answered the Macedonian call to forever change the world One-eyed Wotan deserted in Valhalla while Saxon hearth and home are populated sanctuary Lyr and Lugh left behind as the best of Brehonic Law and Celtic song as praying limbs are lifted toward starry heights unfurled Roman ingenuity and Greek subtlety interwoven in Lindisfarne's tapestry A vining whose broad leaf twines skyward toward the bright Finding firm arboreal support for reason and delights What couldn't be offered by the old gods, now dead who never lived, the Resurrected One does give Nations clash and realign, iron rubs against iron Commerce dares the oceans terrors and primal lands bright with promise Join the journey of rising motion, boughs push upward, liberty's promotion Blessings abound, cures are found, injustice fought with light in darkness shining Rising above depravity and savagery to bring life, salvation and civilization's blessings, But now what chirping Babel arises from the West's own Christian nestlings? While snarling stealthy beasts skulk among the dark and twisted undergrowth Their baleful eyes seek out with bloodlust the singers of freedom's song and loathe While those fattened on liberty's tree attack it furiously, "Oppressor of my freedom, enslaver of my body, robber of my wealth!" they cry. And cutting deep at the notch of their support they try To separate themselves from that which bears them up O foolish ones, the thoughts you think, the words you speak, the hopes you clasp Arise from within the very tree that bears you up and yet you seek deliverance from its grasp? With splintering crack the bough gives way, its plummet marked by twin plumes, Smoking towers torn from bluest September sky Where is freedom found, and dignity? Tolerance and diversity? On the ground, where snarling beasts surround? In seeking freedom and life away from its source what do you find? The confusion of the modern mind leaves much behind. Ken Bridge is a former policeman and pastor who lives in Northern Virginia. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |
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