Prose: Sowing Tears

Sowing Tears

Silence!  Be Silent!

The silent rustling of the cold winter stalks

Left trussed upon the frozen clods.

Whispering their memories of bygone summer days

Rain, dark storms, morning dew, heat

Blue and green, brown and black

“Yellow Face to gladden my veins!” say they.

all for nothing

Where is the joy of the harvest?

Who comes with sheaves abounding

And a song on their lips?

The corn stalks stand as totems to an

Earlier promised prosperity

But we stole it, sold it, abused those

Precious gifts: land and soil,

The fertile rows of humanity – children, men and women.

And I, O Lord, yes I, myself ignore them like a Lazarus

And threw them away in the inner city,

Speaking to myself: ‘why won’t the government do something?’

Warm bed, plenty of food, shelter and laughter.

But those still white stalks stand rustling their memories, a lament,

“What has become of our basket of fruit?”