
The Fallen Ax
Ives Wittman
An abandoned man
With a hungering soul seeks
A resting place
At the edge of looming frontiers
Where gray skies and fall leaves
Comfort loneliness in disguise,
Denying wisdom's wall a delirium assails
A violence within rebelling against
Ignorance and grace.
In the valley, an ax shrieks and falls.
A splitting of wood cracks
The protesting air
Isolation turns to solitude.
A sacred calling echoes in snow covered Mountain landscapes
Of a soul.
A jubilant boy returns
In borrowed snows laughing and
Playing with sled dogs barking.
In trickling waters taut
And riveted
Coming winter shadows matter,
Where love suffers all In deep forests
No longer gripped by the lie
The emptiness shatters.
