deepundergroundpoetry.com
Truth to mill
The last of the final harvest
It's grain as yet unmilled
Standing in the thrashing hall
It's thoughts lay partially spilled
Amongst the last of spent husks
The fragments of shattered stalks
They listen to the rushed winds talk
Through the vented walls barrage
Of autumn storms and winter days
As I face the malaise of final thought
In longer setting days now brought
I set the of stone once more to turn
And from the spin of labour spill
The last weight of flour and truth to mill.
It's grain as yet unmilled
Standing in the thrashing hall
It's thoughts lay partially spilled
Amongst the last of spent husks
The fragments of shattered stalks
They listen to the rushed winds talk
Through the vented walls barrage
Of autumn storms and winter days
As I face the malaise of final thought
In longer setting days now brought
I set the of stone once more to turn
And from the spin of labour spill
The last weight of flour and truth to mill.
Published 15th Jan 2020
Author's Note
Life goes on..
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17th Jan 2020 3:03am
A very clever wordplay, with a deeper meaning underneath. Thanks for sharing!
31st Jan 2020 11:48pm
We never know when the remnants of past roles are going to surface again. I worked as an interpretive guide one year and had to do all sorts of curious things. Amongst the plethora, the thrashing and hand milling of grain was one. Thank you for reading and seeing the meaning.
