Man Made Gods
Let the blade of your hoe
Sink deep into the soil
But I’m only a child, I said.
No man ever reap a bountiful harvest
Who never till the earth deeper
Than the gods buried their ornaments
Father said to me.
Ornament, I thought aloud
How can that be; when I was told the gods
Are spirits who neither sleep nor dream
How is it that they dress with ornaments like ordinary men?
The gods maybe a creation of our imaginations
Will you stop dreaming and go back to work?
The voice of my father dragged me back to the labour at hand
Matthias Pantaleon's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Man Made Gods by Matthias Pantaleon )
- Prayer at 5: 30 a.m. by Robert E. Whelan.., Bill Grace
- स्रोद गोमोरदोँ, Ronjoy Brahma
- The Rules Of The Game., Tony Adah
- Rold Dahls Words Of Wow, Curtlan Popo
- Lovingkindness! ! ! Yes!, Mr. Nobody
- Poetry Consoles, Sandra Feldman
- Inner Cosmos, Curtlan Popo
- Coffee, Nassy Fesharaki
- Arrival , Gert Strydom
- Spectrum, Curtlan Popo
Poem of the Day
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
- Heather Burns
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)