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.