Shoulders hunched, head bent, jaw clenched,
He trudged through life’s field, angry and
Unaware. Heedless of the seed he scattered
Through days he’d plowed with bitter furrows,
He trampled tender shoots, budding with
Marvelous possibilities, leaving them crushed
In his sere, dusty wake. And onward marched.
Truth rained down, and those seeds he’d sown
Sprouted into tortured rows of twisted briers.
And before he knew it, a noxious harvest sprang
Up to choke him with the ripe, death-dealing fruits
First dropped from his two wrath-balled fists.
And still he marched on, full of bile and bitterness,
Cursing God for the produce of his own planting.
“Be not deceived; God is not mocked: for whatsoever a man sows, that shall he also reap.”
