The reward reaped me,
stole the warmth from my bones
with every stroke scythed short.
I used to be that golden wheat,
unafraid of death’s crooked hook.
I was painted warm,
let my stalk choke spring sun all up
cough out its thick sheath.
From the earth, I
drank the gravel of life.
Rooted, I nibbled the sky.
Death’s rusty router
took me down to waist height.
Kneeling, I stood
mourning the infinite limit,
I cried ichor for 100 years
couldn’t bear the weight
of this familiar fear.
Finally made my pilgrimage
Couldn’t find him.
Found out I climbed the only
dull beast living
in this world of gilded gold.
Trudging back to that field of silk,
the red-roofed horizon house
told me I’d never have a home.
The old barn said welcome in.
My strength to climb
was long sapped.
I planted myself at the base
of that cruel wall
and died in its shade,
nothing left to harvest.
