A Poem about a Farmer

Photo found via Pinterest, user Ashley Dijkhuizen

Mary Beth Wright, Managing Editor

I wrote this poem four years ago I believe. I don’t write much poetry at all; I prefer writing prose or fiction, usually short stories or character based work… I’m too busy to write anything more! I’ve honestly forgotten why I wrote this or what inspired me, but I like it well enough, so I hope you enjoy reading.

A Poem about a Farmer

me and god are alike

we rise every morning with the sun in our wake

light crowns my head as i kneel in the dirt and life begins, again and again

at my feet, in my hands, ‘neath the blue horizon,

mothers, sons, daughters, i will keep my eyes on

we rise every afternoon, past those green pastures

verdancy burgeons into red gems of reflected light

the hand of death is raised once more, striking again and again

at my feet, in my hands, ‘neath the blue horizon,

mothers, sons, daughters, fall back into the dirt, irrevocably to die in

we rise every night, shielded from the falling sun

broken bread is chewed and swallowed

the same supper to be eaten again and again

i feel it at my feet, in my hands, ‘neath the black horizon

mothers, sons, daughters, in the morning born once more, and in the afternoon, forgotten