Ken Krogue

The First Christmas Tree

-

The blade is nicked and rough and dull, but severs, cut and cold.

My place and two among the stand of others left bare, with stems and remnants old.

I hear coarse voices choose us three for height and straightness; bark is shaved.

Ripping, urgent; a deadline waits at dawn—the task which I am saved.

The cart with cords secured, and sure precision knots are trained and true.

Over street of stone and dirt and sand. If I had but known what I would do.

His knee gives twice and stumbles, His will alone keeps him from the dust

Each step along the corridor of jeers and weeping, jars recognition and my trust.

-

I know this man, a mere charade to think he suffers so.

With a third of my trunk upon his back the crowd clearly does not know.

Their prince, their god, this cannot be! Yet still he suffers on.

I whisper, “Why?” he hears my groan and gently caresses me to silence.

I revolt at realization of pain, his back is bloody, I’m hard to hold

my weight is crushing my dearest friend.

“Oh what are they doing, how can this be?”

He stumbles… another stoops and finishes our journey.

-

The hill is rocky, scarred and torn with holes dug with mocking, grumbling discipline.

No care is made as I am crossed upon myself and lashed together to hold his weight.

He then is lain upon me and I consider, ‘can I shield him, save him now?’

Again he whispers quietly for my stillness as guards raise the hammers high.

“No!” I shriek, “This cannot happen. Wait! You do not know!”

His cry of shock; he did not realize the electric pain of tendons, nerves.

I cringe and bow my trunk. The guards pause, amazed.

No, it must have been the recoil of their blow.

-

“Forgive me Lord, don’t let me be among these fools.”

They do not comprehend the generations and universes they impact.

Again, “Be still, and let them finish, I know why I am here.”

Amazed, I quiet and watch and feel, the very rocks as well

I’m lifted, dropped; earth shudders at his cry.

The heavens pent, now rent with fury unleashing hell’s dismay.

He raises up upon his feet to breath, the nail holding true.

Even the steel begs permission, then forgiveness.

-

I cannot bear a moment longer, “Master, but say the word,

and I will lower you to the earth.” …

“No, my son, be still. Suffer it so for now, there is no other way.”

Believing him, the only One who cannot lie, I quiet, then ponder, ‘Dare I ask him now?’

He speaks again, “Ask what you will my son, and it is yours.”

My courage comes, slowly, deep, from somewhere unseen,

“Don’t let my name be linked to death, but rather to your birth.”

He pauses, prays, blessing my name “So shall it be, you shall be evergreen.”

-

-Kenneth D. Krogue – December 15, 1995