L'aura del Campo

Ancient Axe [168.255]

Ancient Axe

From the Ancient Axe
the roots of peace spread out.
The blood of millions barely enough
to feed it for a thousand years,
red turning black then fading.
Even stones forgot
how it had covered altars and splattered walls.
All trace of it was gone.
But a breeze began to waft
across the land that war forgot,
rippled wheat fields, stirred deep waters.
Ancient forest-trees were too late to react,
their branches hewn to handles
as ploughs were forged into blades.
Peace was sundered.
The Ancient Axe revived at last.

© Kåre Enga 2011-11-26 [168.255] (edited 2022-02-27)

16 lines, free verse

Original in "Knapweed No.4" [December.1. 2011]