The plowman of the beginning
it overturns the earth from side to side
awakens dormant secrets
the plowman shapes the ground with hands
and looks at this as a sculpture
when the art of sculpture had not even been invented
quenches the thirst of the earth
with his sweat
and even with the shepherd’s blood
he falls on his back
pressed by the weight of the slices of bread he dreams of
his looks reach the heights of the world
the outside world with earth days
and the world inside my days
they might even plant thoughts there in the sky
where immortal stories bear fruit
About the Creator
The Voyeur's Incandescent Reasoning
The woman sat nonplussed, in the Waiting Room. In a sort of daze, looking straight ahead patiently. She had already had three small breakfast's that morning and a nip of sherry, this was not unusual she would typically wait until an hour after she took her anti-depressant and was her morning routine. She was merely following instructions she assured herself, shifted slightly in her seat and feeling a little heart burn thought, maybe she should skip lunch. Dom had said to have the task done this week. She was well used to his methods and desired to get this over and done with soon. She glanced at her watch, smiled weakly at the Receptionist who was there for a moment and then gone.
By Canuck Scriber L.Lachapelle Author7 days ago in Fiction
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