Forgotten Conflict

Image Courtesy of Pixabay

Perched high upon a barren hill,

Where life has run it’s empty course,

A tree; benign and void of soul,

Is pushed and pulled at breeze’s will.

For some, the cheers are deafening,

The tree could fall today or night,

And rid this world of such a sight,

This ugly, massive, rotting thing.

Yet, others feel the tree still lives,

Their moxie fueled by firm resolve,

The thought of death must be absolved,

The beauty that the old wood gives.

They each case stones upon their foes,

“How dare they spread the word of hate?”

“How dare they spurn this glaring fate?”

Then through the noise, a crushing blow.

The fallen tree lies in the clear,

Each side stares on with mouths agape,

Then all, in silence, turn away,

Forgetting what has happened here.