The Land Poem by R.S. Farris

The Land

Rating: 5.0


Stay? This land is bleak and barren!
A withered leaf flaps in the unrelentless
Wind, which passes through to leave the
Hard ground colder than before. All is
Dead-why stay here? Verdant Egypt
Calls me, tells me that all could be well. But
'Stay, ' He says. 'This is your land. I
Want you here.'

I walk the length and breadth of this
Strange land, the cold wind whipping
At my back. Mirage deceives me, twilight
Tells me that the night is coming soon.
I cannot face the night. I have no place
To call my own, no refuge from the
Bleakness that surrounds me. I will die here.
What is left for me?

That still, small voice comes, carried by
A breeze, its force still masked by its
Simplicity. And He says, 'Plant it. Let it
Go.' But nothing more-no reassurance,
Nothing more. He leaves it up to me to choose.
I walk the length and breadth of this strange
Land-what secrets hide here? What malicious
Shade is lurking in that wind?

I kneel, and brokenly I start to dig.
There's nothing here for me! I claw and scratch,
The dead earth slowly yielding to my bleeding
Hands. I scrape away the useless dirt to hide
The precious seed I've hoarded for so long.
The mocking wind sweeps dust into the
Grave I dig, so painfully. So pointlessly? I press
The seed into this strange, cold land.

All is as it was before. I walk throughout
The land, and stop to see the small, hard mound
That hides my seed. The wind laughs in my
Face; the hot tears sting my cheeks as nothing
Happens. Broken and cold, I give up all desire to
Chide the silent sky. For what am I, that He
Who made this strange, dark place should think of me?
I wait, in silent, unrequited hope.

All is as it was before, but I am not the same.
I cannot leave this land, not when my soul
Is buried here. And if it grows? The streams
Of water flood my desert, mountains blossom
Into hills of promised honeycomb-the seed
Will bloom! The green, the blue, of earth and sky
Will shine on me-His still, small voice has won! My heart
Is full; there still remains a rest for me.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Jonzo Bandwagoner 09 January 2007

Amazing! Farris, you have an incredible talent for making such concepts and ideas so realistic; the fourth stanza is my favorite. I really shouldn't write poems anymore after this, it's embarassing in comparison.

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R.S. Farris

R.S. Farris

Memphis, Tennesee
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