The Last Sower
By Daniel Amerena
With memories lay dormant-minded,
Clouding in a deepened haze,
A gentle man is oft reminded,
Of convoluted simple days.
A premature existence
In a world with hopes belated,
Metronome with no consistence,
Where the wealthy congregated.
Full-fledged in deep privation,
Cast seed into abyss,
Some grow without fair declaration,
The world knows not the seeds subsist.
Ahead, yet present, in our day,
When he plants the buds of growing lawn,
They fall upon the barren way,
All hope of growing cast, now gone.
Yet even if these seeds take root,
Into the shallow dirt above,
They crush beneath thy social boot,
Forbidden from receiving love.
Much like the man, the seeds take source,
Survive through troubles long and hard,
Still strewn upon our human course,
Aside the crowded boulevard.
Even if they live past prime,
And flourish under care,
No man on earth will take the time,
To know that they are there.
In truth, this man, though he know not,
Has wronged how he was wronged,
By putting life upon this spot,
Where no deprived belonged.
Yes, in the end, the way we live,
Will seal our selfish fate,
For there is no way life can forgive,
The mockery we create.