Echoes of the Felled

I wrote this poem out of a sense of frustration with my current approach to a memoir I'm writing. I've come to realize that the story is less about me and more about the places where the events occurred and their history, stretching back to the founding of the State of Oregon. This poem is inspired by my thoughts and emotions regarding this realization, focusing on the connection between a place, a people and their past.

In heart, forests breathe,
Under crowns woven peace
Canopies, shadow-laden,
Melodic grace cradles haven.

Gentle hands, earth deep,
Planted seeds, dreams leap.
Came the jaws, teeth rage,
Trapping marred, nature's pain.

Language—roots deeply set,
Now tangled, fragile, beset.
Culture—leaves lush hue,
Blurred by force, survival's due.

Every trunk, a story bends,
What was lost, soil contends.
Eyes fierce, pride entwined,
Twisted limbs, fates defined.

Skillful hands, earth known,
Cultivated traditions, spirits flown.
Came the saws, teeth rage,
Carving scarred, nature's pain.

Generations’ steady gaze,
Great wrong echoes, bleeding.
People shaped, harvested peace,
Clutching memories, rage released.

This land, altar to the felled,
Silent whispers now compelled.
Shadows stretch, yet also bide,
Echoing, timber past and tide.