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To Reap That Which has been Seeded

After I walk into the mine

Of vast assorted articles

My mind is so entranced that I

Would dare to walk the particles.

These minds so fit to toil long

Into the coldest winter night.

I daren’t pass their strong sublime

Nor take that wherewith was not mine.

These cold walls drip and drag with thought

Their memory doesn’t fade with time;

I see within their startled eyes

These verities beheld in truth.

Then leaving that dusty, dirty shell

I find a rag of watered well.

I take it up and grip it firm

The ends don’t meet, they leave the worm.

Then clasped I wring it of its juice

Its gladness, full, of watered used.

But still, this sprout within has grown

And still I push myself to hone

This craft that with all merited thought

I would not finish, complete this rhyme.

So hard, not slight, this wet spring dew

It flew and still no end became

I tried and not did I fulfil

That with which I assayed to do.

I dropped that rag and left that room

Unto the fiery gates of bliss.

The garden, I walk and reminisce

These talks that I have undergone.

These friends of cherished cherry trees

And long-cut grass, they wave with leaves.

So left upon that mount I lay

And stare the stars begin to fade.

Not to leave this world behind

But to again, behold the night.

I just wrote this on a thought and thought you guys might enjoy and critique. And tag anyone else of whom you can think. I’m kinda in that mood, ya know? *btw, I just wrote this out with no clear editing so feel free to barrage me with criticism.* 🙂