“Symbolic Scythe” – A Poem

i want to live my days

like a soft-covered book

malleable, flexible, but spine intact.

like an almanac

chronicling the dry and rainy days

like a self-writing story

where the ink pot overflows with ocean waves.

some heroes are fallen

like the wheat in a field

cut down by a farmer

with the scythe that he wields

to feed all of the people

the hungriest souls

to know the cells of their beings

as the evenings grow cold

and they’ll never know

what was sacrificed

by the wheat that bathed golden

so that it could give life



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