A cornfield harvest in his mind
can make his feelings hard to find.
The withered husks left in the sun
become good mulch when day is done.
His muddled mind now joins the mulch,
and tumbles down the narrow gulch.
The abyss then can hear his cries,
and echoes them into the skies.
——————————
He calls for help, but no one hears.
His words are yelled from broken tears.
When he looks back upon these days,
he’s blinded by the sun‘s bright rays.
But all the silos he can fill
still fit inside a dollar bill.
The mulch and feed and barnyard beds
are great for husks already dead.
——————————
But does this image clear his mind?
or help emotions be defined?
He hopes to answer questions soon
when misery will end its tune.
The cobwebs will be set aside,
and then new growth will be his guide.
He will no longer scream aloud
because he’ll live among the crowd.
——————————
His clouds no longer want to stay.
The world no longer feels so gray.
And what, you ask, has caused this change?
the sturdy roots, they still remain.
Those sturdy roots still hold the seed
and they, the sun will surely feed.
He now can see that tender corn
from sturdy roots will soon be born.
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