Wheat

1/26/11

His clothes made him look skinny

A pale, wasted man

My car stalled on the highway

He stopped to lend a hand

My engine blown and tires flat

I held my head and cried

My journey is a knotted thread

With knots I haven’t tied

He offers me an outlet

Gave me mighty wings

Taught me about life and death

And many other things

I told him I was ready

To leave with him at last

To find my sacred paradise!

He looked at me and laughed

He took my palm in one hand

The other held a scythe

And just as he would harvest wheat

He harvested my life