Untitled # 119

Out, in the center of a wheat field
I lay, hidden
Hoping never to be found

Praying for the harvester to
Snatch me up
And discard me like so much chaff

I will float away on the soft
Harvest breeze
Lazily landing on a fallow field

Only to be plowed under for the
Next season
Becoming part of the growing cycle

— GB

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s