Cycles in Season
The grain, who'd reap life's golden grain
knows dust to dust's returned again,
though mortal flesh rots none impound
pure spirit risen, fresh force found.
New found, to greet soul's season new,
scope springs again, hopes shall renew,
conceit that speeds humanity
grounds down needs through greed, vanity.
Profanity will seek full pound
of flesh before the clock’s unwound,
while wounded pride, vile greed for gain,
turns self-destructive 'gainst the grain.
Karmic call swings round on cue
for long expected rendezvous
poor, rich, pure, promiscuity,
seed wisdom or insanity.
Yet grain finds fertile soil. Long lain,
disdaining stained-glass window pane,
new cycle starts, charts rich rebound
to light recrowned from dark profound.
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