Harvest
Harvest
The wisest men bear folly, their loins issue
and foolish sons increase the ruins of nations.
A spawn of humanity born of tissue
rises through its own machinations.
When the time is ripe, prophetic words
like vinegar burns into your marrow;
tomorrow you will feel their swords -
for that is the path you must follow.
And time then will increase your moans
when they have invaded your perfumed
homes, taken the comfort from your zones
and nothing is as you assumed.
When you are propelled into action
gushing crimson liquid, a broken pipe
wasted, dreaming of satisfaction;
You will learn; men do, when the time is ripe.
Copyright © Sherese Gooden | Year Posted 2022
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