What are we really
but bones and skin?
What are we really
but time wearing thin?
What are we really
but lights and sounds?
What are we really?
A thought that astounds
or maybe confounds.
The more you think
the less you know
but give it some time
and perhaps you’ll grow
to understand what we really are
and find your path, your Lodestar.
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With strength and courge
and a furrowed brow,
the old man picked up his rusty plow.
He walked out to the field
bent down, kneeled,
and prayed before begining.
He prayed for past days,
the ones withered away.
He prayed he was far from his dying day.
But once in the field,
he never did yield
to the task he was set to do.
Once he was done
in the blistering sun
and his shadow was long and thin,
he took back to his house
where he sat with a bottle of gin.
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3 Comments | tags: begining, bent, brow, courage, days, done, dying, field, gin, house, long, man, old, plow, poetry, prayed, strength, task, the farmer, thin, withered | posted in Uncategorized
Original Poetry 