The Memorial Bench

artisan bench 2
With standing pride quartered,
My limbs rest in shade, no longer
As nature intended yet roots are grounded, safe, intact.

Reborn
With horizontal definition,
A heart in conflict with a crown,

Imperfections become an art, bolts replace
Knots and bark
Quietens to a satin glow.

I cannot read, but I hear
Passers- by tell the brass tattooed testament of
Why I am.

A new found form, with
Commissioned coordinates
Witnessing society’s recreational regression,

Returning, reflecting
On what was
And what is now.

I too am resting
Not in one place, but two.
The old generation. Far removed

From forests girth I am
Watching, waiting for springs
Immortal re- birth: earths contract commissioned

By an early empire,
Proven by time
Envied by all.

(Eric)

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