Poem Hunter
The Sentinel
TW Tim Worden ( / )

The Sentinel

As I looked through the penetrating mist,
which surrounded the empty plot of land,
in the early morning,
I saw little dots rising in the sky.
Peeking through the vapours of life stood tall trees,
watching me with ever-piercing leaves that were eyes.
As I walked further and further from the stream,
the trees became more and more visible;
became more and more watching.
For I knew that they couldn't think,
nor know, nor see,
but they nonetheless watched me as I walked along in the early morning.
Serving as Sentinels to the Earth;
surveying humankind,
and their vain attempts of luxury-
by cutting down the very things that give them life.
This I pondered:
That man just passes them by,
zipping along the street to get to work, to school
and yet not looking at the surrounding nature.
This the tree thought:
The very thing that man tried to stop is what will eventually return to him,
by taking away the very picture of themselves,
and replacing it with what is corruptible; buildings, houses, cars, cities,
and loosing the meaning of their existence,
that they were created by God,
just as we are,
and yet they take their creation and construct their own futile attempts of a society.
This I pondered:
That man is destroying itself,
by destroying the image of God from the face of the Earth,
and the trees just stand there,
not intervening with what we do,
because they were made by God to be Sentinels to humankind.
For if God wanted to,
He could correct His creation to perfectness,
but instead He lets us witness first what life is like without an infinite God beside you.
Instead He gives us glimpses of Him,
which slowly fade from the face of the Earth as men,
under the name of Progress,
destroy and construct new items,
which are further degraded in an attempt of progressing human condition.
So the tree thinks:
Why does man do this to himself?
Trading the image of God for what is corruptible,
Trading the truth of God for a life.
So I thank the tree,
serving as a Sentinel,
reminding us humans of what we are inside,
and watching us go throughout our lives,
without so much as thinking about it as we go through our vain lives,
from point A to point B,
like a wave tossed in the ocean,
not even taking the time to ponder about the reminder of God's hand in creation.
And as I look at the swaying trees,
I am reminded of God's grace and glory;
as He watches over us just as the tree does,
and is beautiful just as the tree is.

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