Paving the Past
159 Words
The silent trees keep their stories reserved
for those who understand their whisperings
in the wind.
I"m sad to say
I am not among the privileged.
When I walk along the carpet sown
with pine needles by
inhuman hands, I am blind
to the ghosts who tread
beside me.
Who laid here once, where a marker now stands?
Whose dying breath fanned this ancient and scarred tree?
Who cried where now there is laughter,
who laughed here, where mourners pass?
The trees refuse to speak to me
though I mean them no harm
beyond curiosity.
Who can blame them?
The things they"ve seen would silence
the strongest men—tales of war and battles
won and lost, brother against brother.
Such images can only be safely conveyed
on the wind, blowing by in
intermittent bursts.
Maybe if the trees would speak,
someone would listen.
They were there, after all.
Perhaps they can keep us
from paving over our past.
- Writer
