The Pride Of Men

Field works dimly camouflage attrition
These pomegranate hands who cultivate
Trenches of dusk squeal to those lesser seen

In Labyrinths of detachment
We feed upon this which but only grows
These pomegranate hands who cultivate

Our strength is swoon but stars do also rise
From our hands we pass on to daybreaks next
We feed upon this which but only grows

Our march is marsh, to scavenge the land
And when demised the green for moments
From our hands we pass on to daybreaks next

And in that moment of such starry watch
Thus bares the seeds to that of all we strive
Though strength still meek through stripe of strife
We stature ourselves upon what we heap

poem by Scott J. Shepard
Added by Poetry Lover
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