The Culling
©2012, Olan L. Smith
Swiftly the Harvester will appear and seize, in panic
People will turn to each other and say, "Why
Are we in its grip, for whom does it come?"
It arrives to gathers all!
Humans shall fall down and become like dirt
To be repossessed by Mother.
Use your reasoning and comprehend hope is in
The unseen, un-sensed sphere where
Force animates tissue and is Origin.
What comes from the Earth belongs to her
And what is of spirit belongs to the perpetual
Oomph of the Cosmos;
The Universe has countless membranes, and each
Its own progenitor and that female announces
What is hers and is possessive of her
Offspring even those of doppelganger realms,
Where flesh and spirit blend one must
Align with the eternal and forbade not the
Flesh to give the Earth what
Is hers, and know the heavens also reap.
What is temporal? Is it delusion of mind?
Who sees beyond this fabric? Whoever
Relies only on the mortal senses is doom to repeat
Their ancestor's blunders,
A millstone is prepared for this world and flesh
Will be diminished; our central hub will
Find itself released of its prison for the
Culling is finishing and unconditional.
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Write Upon My Stone
Poesie"Write Upon My Stone" has turned into a collection of my poems about death, and other of my poems with dark themes. I will be adding to this collection with both new and older poems with those themes. Love, peace, and freedom. Olan L. Smith (aka...
