Keule's Valhalla Of Poetry

The Harvestor

I harvest
What's inside of me
For purest crops
And hay
I leave some seeds just willingly
To save them
For another day

I harvest
What's inside of me
For all I chop
And sway
I leave
These scars unknowingly
They are the signs of my decay

I harvest
What's inside of you
My grounds are dead
And hollow now
For all I scarred intentionally
Your crops are calm
On subtle ground

Keule, 24.04.2015