The Harvest Of The Seed Poem by James McLain
The Harvest Of The Seed
Each field is barren white with snow,
around me blind, they know.
I see.
Darkness brings the haze of dawn,
how many must it show.
While many miles of web it's barb,
my flesh,
it tastes and grows.
Bringing home the wheat,
ground white,
and powdered souls,
spread open far and wide.
Touching only youth,
not men,
Each gem from stone,
pours out and lost our seed it keeps.
No more.
j.Mc.
I don't pretend to understand this fully, but it makes me think of the pagan fertility rites when a young man would be sacrificed and 'planted' in the ground to rise again in the spring bringing renewal. But this seems darker than that.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/11/2024 5:28:02 AM # 1.0.0.1119
this one is very different^^ a breath of fresh air as some would say