Vee Bdosa Poet Sonnet

Harvest Time

HARVEST TIME
There are no roots to see, not with our eyes,
that stretch from earth, umbilically below;
not even to the sun, to realize,
but there must be a  chord we do not know;

Are we not on a fruit, still ripening?
Perhaps we are the nectar from the tree,
Awaiting harvest time's great siphoning
When all are ripened; it's our time to be.

And we will be plucked from the path we're on
Around the sun, into a vat and pressed;
The vintage of Apopolictic Dawn,
Revealing vast unknowns, we've never guessed.

Then all our stuff of non-sense; all we thought,
Ferments into the past, already bought.

© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown  Poet

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Vee Bdosa March 17, 2016 at 10:09 AM Thanks, John, I wonder, should we be afraid, or not, and, if so, we cannot change it so eat drink and make Mary. Or Susie or Caterina or whomever.

John Fleming March 17, 2016 at 9:59 AM Pretty good, Vee. I would say you are closer to the truth than you realize. The "Interconnectedness" of all creation dictates that the "Great Universal Consciousness" created sentient life to view its own existence. What would be the point of a beautiful universe devoid of any sort of life to wonder about all of its contained splendour; we are all part of that great collective! As you pontificate: To be reborn again in some form or other...Wherever that may be. My best regards, Vee. :) john Vee Bdosa March 17, 2016 at 10:09 AM Thanks, John, I wonder, should we be afraid, or not, and, if so, we cannot change it so eat drink and make Mary. Or Susie or Caterina or whomever.