The weight of an ax borrowed from the past with a new handle cast, sits heavy on my shoulder
Though spotted with rust it carries no dust, its blade made by a generation far older
It carries the nicks of erring flicks and ancient sticks, in these forests grown
Sharpened on a grinding wheel, I hear it squeak and squeal, in a rasping scratchy groan
I carry it by my side, a grandfathers pride, now an adopted child that I call my own
Stumps long dead, where giants once bled, amputations to make a home of wood and stone
With a machete his brother, longer than any other, I cut my path through thick brush and vines
Both made of steel, no pain they feel, their cry a song amongst the pines
Hand grip of wood, cuts their brothers where they stood, a house built on cellulose bones
A traitor to its roots, a man recruits, the aid of wood handles on the tools he owns
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: October 12th, 2026 03:10
- Comment from author about the poem: As most of my work a metaphor drawn from real experience. War passed down from generation to generation cuts deep to displace our brothers that we discount as another species so as to rob their land and build our homes even convincing them to aid us against their own kind.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 41
- Users favorite of this poem: nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson), Paul Bell, Teddy.15, Kevin Hulme, Tristan Robert Lange
- In collections: Social commentary, War.
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Comments11
great piece, a fav
Thank you Norman your review and comment are most appreciated
most welcome
As most of my work a metaphor drawn from real experience. War passed down from generation to generation cuts deep to displace our brothers that we discount as another species so as to rob their land and build our homes even convincing them to aid us against their own kind.
The irony of the tree providing its own death.
Yet to think, no trees, no us, they're that important.
Conservation I suppose is the answer, and in a way, Brazil is probably the most important country in the world for this. No rain forest, no us.
Thanks so much Paul for the read and comment my friend. Yes it occurs to me how we dehumanize people in times of war calling them Japs, Huns, Nips, Charlie so as to make them easier to kill. We do the same with animals. Never name a pig or cow that is for food makes it harder to kill I was told. The more so with plants. Trees seen as almost non life forms are easy to cut and use their bodies to build our structures. Recruiting them to aid us in their own demise is no different than those defectors from nations be they Native American or Vietnamese to fight against their own fellowmen. Americans did it against the British and so we are all guilty in some way.
I think with the white man, it's square peg round peg. It has to fit. If it doesn't fit, we go OCD.
So true it is
Very moving metaphoric dear Soren🙏🏻🕊️👍🏻
Thanks so much my friend it is very much appreciated.
Good write SB. You chopping wood?!
Thanks Orchi yes as a matter of fact I was. Got to have something to burn.
Brilliant poem my dear sorrenbarret 🌹
Thank you my friend your reads are always appreciated and highly anticipated.
War . What is it good for? As the Song says.
Good Write.
Thank you Kevin your review is highly appreciated and valued. Yes war what is it good for absolutely nothing... unless you are the aggressor, greedy, and without scruples then you take what is not yours.
Of Course. 👍
Damn, Soren! We humans really are a peculiar species. We'll destroy something magnificent, congratulate ourselves on our ingenuity, and then wonder why the world is falling apart around us. And somehow we'll probably invent another machine to fix it! LOL! Powerful writing, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏
Thanks so much Tristan for your review and comment. Beware the machine that fixes I say. Everything that we have designed to fix from recycling to adjustments and laws against discrimination have only made things worse.
The ax being borrowed alone speaks volumes; the imagery of your description just spills out of this work. "Hand grip of wood, cuts their brothers where they stood" is, well, brilliant.
Thanks so much Dan for the read and most generous words. I appreciate your support and encouragement my friend.
Very cool soren...I like the subject and how you separate the sword from the wielders
Thanks so much Boot for the read and comment it is most appreciated.
Hello, Soren,
What an interesting and most unusual passage of poetry. To build and destroy and destroy to build. Who wields the ax to sever or to build, in who's hands be it for the ax is just a tool like money, to prosper or wreak havoc. Another very intresting poem from you, my good fellow.
Wishing you much happiness,
Tony.
Thank you so much Tony for your review of this piece. My mind is always wandering and the other day I was looking at a beam of the house hand hewn from the forest over a hundred years ago, the ax marks still down the side where it had been shaped. We are a violent species against ourselves and the environment around us, justified as self preservation be it homes or invasion and how we recruit the aid of others to help us be it tools or people from the ranks we fight against. Your words are most valued my friend.
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