Black Poems: 12 / 500

Reapers

Rating: 2.9

Black reapers with the sound of steel on stones
Are sharpening scythes. I see them place the hones
In their hip-pockets as a thing that's done,
And start their silent swinging, one by one.
Black horses drive a mower through the weeds,
And there, a field rat, startled, squealing bleeds,
His belly close to ground. I see the blade,
Blood-stained, continue cutting weeds and shade.

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COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Lisa Flores 29 November 2021

Beautiful : )

0 0 Reply
anonymous 28 February 2019

This is kind of creepy.

0 0 Reply
-You- 22 February 2018

- - -This poem is gucci- - -

1 1 Reply