Tuesday, July 24, 2007

The Gavel

What was once a mighty oak
  spreading its arms in welcoming shelter
    now whittled down to the human shape
      a hammer, a small and indelicate thing

The hammer, gripped in crooked hand
  Strikes a block cut from sycamore
    In the air hangs echoes
      cracks like rifle reports

What was once a mighty oak
  Alive with sparrows' trill
    Now demands a churchly silence

  And our voices now are still.

No comments:

Post a Comment