Tuesday, December 31, 2013

-------The Sharpest Schythe-------

This tool is sharp and true
 like love made through a thunderstorm
  when the heavenly fires come to perform
an alchemy of metals and skin.

Sharp enough to cut the buckwheat and the brambles,
 and the weeds that have crowded the seeds of our memories
  held in muscles and the mind, of a place and its ways
that our soul will never forget. 

"Watching you work reminds me of my home, 
 far away from here"
  a dreamland, very real
where hay makes mountains in the fields.

These hands are the snath
 is the blade
  and this blade is good with death,
   tempered thin so to bring life to rest with grace
as it began.

Within the persistence and prayer of this work
 with each steady swing,
  in the silence, 
   of this scythe,
the seeds of our memories are saved.

For Death 
 is a good farmer
too.

-------

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