Wednesday, March 18, 2015

The Willow Church

Stand
Still
Under leaves;
Don't think,
Feel.
Don't breathe;
Disturbing air,
Still
Since
The natives died.
Worshippers,
Slaughtered.

Light and breeze and muffled.
Songs echo
Above.
Bird cries,
Hymns to
Silence.
She is the old Willow
Bark wrinkled
Head bent low
Still.
Hair
Touching
Sacred Ground.

Lovers
Murdered.
Bones sunk in the earth,
Scorched wood,
Screams and
Children.
Underneath
Sacred Ground
Her friends sleep
Forever.

Birds cry.
Worshipers slaughtered.
Burn her too
Scortched forever
As the bush.
And she
Still
Stands.