The Harvesting

I fell into a mortal sleep
Alone the other day

And waking found that I was reaped
Like wheat that sickles slay

The new realm was a threshing floor
That drew out inner grain

The me, the I, the self, the core
The mental of the brain

It cleared away the weevils too
While winnowing the hull

And as the chaff through cool air blew
There came to view my soul

My husk now thoroughly was purged
And all that stood was me

A naked core made pure emerged
Into eternity

-jwm

For the Rally

Bless the World

Rally, poets! - bless the world
With words the Muse might have you use:
All have won by doing so-
By doing so … you never lose.