Brian’sPoems

The Harvest of a Man

I can see why children are wary
of men in middle age.
We haven’t yet lost our edge,
while the pain and disappointment of life
has made our anger and resentment
into a blunt object,
predictably unpredictable
and at times frightening.

The children see it
but we don’t recognize the narrow passage
which will cull our numbers
and smooth our rough edges
into what looks like love,
but may be nothing more than surrender.

I want those kids to know
we are being plowed.
The wounds of our being
are dredged up like ancient arrowheads
by God’s powerful oxen.

Come children,
place your hands in the turned soil.
Your laughter and your tears
are all necessary
to this harvest called Salvation.