WTC Memorial

[brynmawr1]

WTC  Memorial
 
Rough barked oaks stand
in ordered vigil, silent.
Hearts break 
by degrees touching three thousand names
etched into the margin,
the soul of a nation, the world. Infinite tears
cascade down walls
into a hole that
can’t be filled.

[Knot]

.
Hi Bryn.
Very nice,
perhaps just a little trim?


Rough barked oaks
in ordered vigil. ..................... not sure what these lines add (given the title) - I'd be tempted to cut them and begin with


Hearts break by degrees

touching three thousand names
etched into the margin, the soul

of a nation, the world. Infinite tears
cascade down walls. A hole

that cannot be filled.



Best, Knot


.

[brynmawr1]

.
Hi Bryn.
Very nice,
perhaps just a little trim?


Rough barked oaks
in ordered vigil. ..................... not sure what these lines add (given the title) - I'd be tempted to cut them and begin with


Hearts break by degrees

touching three thousand names
etched into the margin, the soul

of a nation, the world. Infinite tears
cascade down walls. A hole

that cannot be filled.



Best, Knot


.

Hi Knot,

Thanks for stopping by.  The whole poem is a pretty literal description of the memorial with the first lines describing a very regular planting of oak trees around the two sites of the towers.  I was struck by the site of all of the oaks so regularly spaced, all the same size.  It is also very quiet as everyone stops talking as you approach.  We took some friends recently, which is what prompted the poem.  Thanks again.
bryn

[rowens]

WTC  Memorial
 
Rough barked oaks stand
in ordered vigil, silent.
Hearts break 
by degrees touching three thousand names
etched into the margin,
the soul of a nation, the world. Infinite 

Souls of a nation, a world. 


tears


cascade down walls
into a hole that
can’t be filled.



You've a penchant for hyperbole and all-encompassing worldliness that will fit this subject, this poem, if you work those characteristics into your style.
But I predicated my changes above on keeping a solemnity and avoiding moving into mawkishness.

I'm not a writer. I'm new to poetry, and simply am playing by ear. 
English isn't my first language. So, maybe I don't register the subject as monumentally as I would.