The Crop

Loneliness is the seed
From which sprouts a dead weed.
One can't live on memories alone.
They curl bleak and brown
Echoing the sound
'Cross the dust and the land wind-blown.

What was once green
Has now turned to mean
And greying, flailing, detached, roots.
What I feared the most
Nothing to boast
Is slowly turning to wilted shoots.

Tried to feed the hunger that
brought pain like rolling thunderclaps
With materials borne of the earth
Forgot the roots of my own birth.

Drop by drop. Sweat (tears?)
Waters the dust, clearing fears.
Away! you demons! Corruption clots.
So I might bring life back to my plots.

***

I felt empty inside, and I tried to fill it with the warmth of company. I did not realize that though company is an honourable thing, it is only God's love that can fully fill that void.

To think it never occurred to me earlier.

(read my personal blog: this entry, for additional explanation.)

Thanks goes out to Charmaine Han who inspired the third line of this poem. When we are truly alone, it is only our best friends who can show us God's love.