Piled logs

Dried logs stacked, memories past

some split some not

ones that burn slow others fast

split with sweat and snot

Once living, now end in fire's smoke

wood chips giving, life's energy

broke with the axes stroke

to become but an ashen memory

Reviews

[emmajoygreen]

Takes years for a tree to gain so much maturity and density that it can be felled and moved onwards into mere ash unless.. suitable for sprinkling here or there and adding to needs essential. Is rather like humanity, if you have more than one use, you just might be allowed more time to keep tripping the boardwalk - worth your weight in gold you are. Yes, rather like those sacked logs deposited on your property to.. do whatever you can to prolong your usefulness! Fine words, thoughtful words, another chapter in your book.. dare I say CHAR-ming or HOT STUFF , Soren - you see tales in so much many might miss.. food for thought here.. think on.

[Soren]

Thank you so much Emmajoy your words of support are deeply valued and I appreciate your comments of interpretation. Everything has a lesson to it. It is just a matter of seeing it.

[emmajoygreen]

Soren, I must have weird eyesight because i see all sorts via sitting on the fence and looking all ways, trying to find a truth or, indeed, if there is one. Think the word is either contrary or difficult!

[Soren]

Difficult, contrary requires surrenduring to the idea that others have the power

[John the Baptist]

"Split with sweat and snot." The Bard himself could not have written it more poetically. But the journey of the logs, once living, now transforming into an ashen memory, may be a metaphor for us.

[Soren]

Indeed it is John. Thanks for the read and comment it is most appreciated my friend

[Marie]

Wow! How eloquently you paint a picture of trees once growing, living under a clear blue sky, enjoying summer heat and winter snows, in the end only to become a pile of ashes in somebody's fire grate, dear Soren!
Cut down for firewood, your words evoke memories of winters in the past, before oil heating, when it was 'normal' to buy firewood to use to keep warm.
The person who cut down the trees sure earned their money by the sweat of their brow, chopping the tree into logs and splitting them.
You captured this event so finely, smoothly and with the touch of the Master's hand, created a poem which has universal appeal and will take many reader's on a trip back into the past of what once was when we did not know the true value of trees and chopped them down to meet our own needs.
Outstanding write, my dear friend. Thank you so very much for sharing...

[Soren]

Thank you Marie. This came to mind as I was splitting logs that had been felled from some dead trees. The mind wanders as the body works.

[Marie]

Most welcome always, dear Soren. I am so pleased to read that you found inspiration as you split the logs from some dead trees because it is so evocative of times past and is a wonderful poem, dear friend. Thank you again for sharing...