The Harvested
I waited in the darkness, whispering secret prayers
Summoned from my long lost faith.
I gazed at the moon as it was repeatedly sliced
By the momentous raising of his mighty arm.
I can hear their coarse calls to each other,
Gentle swishing and crushing
As they carefully make their way
In this moonlight maize.
I have been found; the reaping will begin.
He ploughs his sickle deep into my stalk
Rough worked hands cover my ears
Ripped in the peak of my bloom.
Carted to his market and displayed
Forced to sell my body for his profit.
** I realize I took a darker turn with this poem than I think Brian intended, but I submitted it
anyway.
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