Cold metal arms, skeletal, sepulchral,
Reaching upwards, grasping.
Devil's towers topped with devil's claws,
Tearing the creation - earth and sky,
Wind and water, what is seen, what is not.
Stinging all with unseen venom.
Counterfeit trees for a counterfeit life:
Texting, surfing, talking - with the soulless.
Where are the trees of living wood and leaf,
That heal with their beauty and breathing,
That feed with their fruit,
That hallow the world,
Having been hallowed themselves
By Our Savior’s hanging upon one of their kind?
Burnt in the engines of Progress, never-satisfied.
By Walt Garlington