Keeper of the Sacred Tree

All my life I've lived in a tree.
It is a towering giant,
With branches that carry the burden of the heavens.
It has sheltered me against the violent summer storms,
And has kept the rain away, the animals at bay.
I have quite a view from there,
From the top of the world,
Looking down on everyone and everything.
I can shout and ev'ry creature will hear me.
I can sing and every bird will acknowledge me.
I can weep and the chirping frogs will console me.
The tree has been my kingdom, my home.
It is one of a vast number,
And together, we have ruled.
We are guardians of what has always been,
What has always been observed.
We translate the Runes that are etched upon our sturdy oaks
To proclaim the history and the laws of the forest.
It is all we know
And all we tree-dwellers will ever need to know:
The Sun rises in the East,
And sets in the West;
The night is followed by morning,
The storm followed by blue skies;
The beasts come in pairs,
The male and his wife;
The North Star guides all who are lost,
And those who are lost come to us.
There is an order to our complicated, overgrown world;
Our roots hold us firmly in place
To what has been embedded in us
Since the Beginning.
And yet, there is always one river that cranes its neck
And heads North instead of South.
There is always one ant
Who marches to a clashing cadence,
Who trips up those in front and behind,
Who believes in the right to stray from tradition.
At first, we were expedient in our corrections:
The rivers were damned up and redirected;
The accused ants were easily squashed.
It was our duty, as keepers of the sacred Runes,
To rid Nature of its unnatural flaws,
For the flaws were considered an infringement on the Runes
(Which we had never before questioned in our existence
Or in the existence of our forefathers).
But then the faults began to ripple
And shake the ground beneath our mighty trees:
The sunflowers became orange,
Whereas before they had been just yellow;
And wolves began to feast on deer,
Whereas all beasts had eaten
Of the nourishing fruits of our trees.
It was not long after that the waves came.
The Floods towered above us;
We thought we were exempt from their fury;
We thought they came for the law-breakers only.
But these floods were not of the baptizing water we had expected.
They were of blood and strife
And each crest was a contorted face,
The cursed countenance of those who were tired of the Old Laws.
The birds,
The bees,
The lion,
The mouse...
Man.
All road the waves to our highest limbs;
They could stand our oppressive giants no longer.
And now I'm stuck in this swaying Willow of a tree,
Holding on to only Faith, it seems.
Maybe it's not Faith at all,
But the tree is all I've known
And the Runic scripts are all I have been taught!
It is only a matter of time before the trees fall;
I know this for certain:
Either They will saw them in half,
Or I myself will tear History's fibers with my own hypocritical hands,
Felling my holy, sacred pedestal
And knocking over the others,
Who still struggle to stay upright and true.
In this way I am torn:
Am I to be devoured by the beasts for my faith?
Or am I to be devoured by my faith for turning into a beast?

Reviews

[Vishuddha]

A brave exposure and a thoughtful write. Looking down on everyone and everything is, perhaps, a distorted point of view, no matter how familiar. That every creature will hear, will acknowledge, will console, perhaps fosters an exaggerated opinion of oneself and ones position. We have ruled. It is all we know. So true. To rid Nature of its unnatural flaws is perhaps unnatural in itself and seems not to be Nature's plan.
Oh, those ants! Straying from tradition! Denying the Old Ways! But, all things change - even The Age. Pisces falls, flooded over with emotion and compassion. The tree will, sooner or later come down. Even a tree can drown. The language of the runes is obsolete, no longer meaning what it says. The tunes which carried the runes are gone. Climb down and find your own way for the old words will no longer work in a new world. Much like old wine bottles with new wine. The others, knocked down or just fallen over, will right themselves soon enough. The last two lines are very good, yet, is devoured the only option? Perhaps there is a new song.

[Nightfeather]

The way you have created your sentences, filled my mind with vivid images. I want to ask you something. Is the tree and its surroundings, symbolic for the past of our human race, because I feels like you traveled back to the roots of our existence.

[Ron Spice]

Thanks for the review! And yes, the tree is symbolic for the roots of our human race as well as the origins of our beliefs. For me, the tree is my Christian upbringing, but for others the tree can be different religions or different beliefs entirely. Times are always changing and it's going to be tough no matter what you grew up believing in. Thanks again!

[mattavelli]

This is beautiful, Ron! The imagery is powerful and the flow of thoughts is smooth. Going in my favorites. :)

[Ron Spice]

Thanks, mattavelli! I'm glad that you enjoyed it so much!