Blood of the Scarecrow

Something a little darker than what I have been doing of late. Was going to be a song. May rewrite it again as one. Don't know yet.

Blood of the Scarecrow

 

 

  She tills the fields of regret

As a whisper of a woman scorned.

  Thoughts grown she'd rather forget

Of love's ambition never born.

  No reciprocation of her toil.

The man would not give willingly.

  Blood stains saturated the soil

As his heart was taken literally.

  Carving pumpkins into his chest

To keep the piece she wanted most.

  The rotting shell, a scarecrow at best,

Dangling lifelessly upon his post,

  Thus frightening off the feelings denied.

So question how does this garden grow

  When all happiness has withered and died?

When planting only seeds of sorrow

  Weeds and worries are all that will bloom.

Stalks the mind, high in the garden's rows.

  This harvest reaped, once sown way too soon,

Ripened in the blood of the scarecrow.

 

Legion

25July08

Reviews

[Chaos]

Ok...where do I begin.

There are so many wonderful things about this piece. I love your images, they brought that feeling of sorrow and regret to the forfront of this piece. Walking in a dead field, void of life and it's because of that sorrow that it strips the potential life from the ground. Well done!

We all shed blood from our mistakes and we all have to face them one day, but if in time we step outside of the person whom we forsaken, we can realize that the garden would grow again with forgiveness of our sins.

I loved the grey images also. These images pulled me in on the stump in the far corner of the field as I watched from a distance the pain you brought into existance with a word, a feeling and a phrase!

Beautiful!

Nice work.

[Deborah Leah Krempa]

An exellent poem. I like the title. Thank you for sharing. Debileah

[Riri Darkwood]

woah. just ...woah! i love it. the dark theme of it really sets it off. you're good! i bet it wasn't easyto ind close or exact rhymes, but you did it. :)