The Sowing

Upon the wind feasted hillside The jagged edges of used rocks swell With the fatless skin of babes and wenches Below a field of blood, no less a Flanders Field A continuous swell of rape roll like waves In the pallid squalor of leaking huts wooden tales tell The scars ironed in the backs and inner thighs The voices crying with no listening ear Blood shines bright in moon's glow sons birth upon the fields For eons it seems men stack rape like barley and wheat Small ones soft ones and inexperienced virgins too Daughters bled away dignity men their respect Born work and ravished in the fields Where is their medal of bravery Today the summer sun washes over the fields Each rays eclipses the dark memories of sin As the sons and daughters rise This poem was written for Joann Grisetti's Copycat contest through inspiration of Debbie Guzzi's The Sowing, one of the Greatest writers here on the Soup