Vision Of The Georgia Farmer

Vision Of The Georgia Farmer
© Surazeus
2018 09 02

While sitting in the new city library,
reading the newest literary novel
spawned by the workshops of America,
I see in sudden vision of strange light
the tough black farmer in blue overalls
who tilled this land one hundred years ago.

I almost fall into gaping abyss
of wordless loneliness yawning his heart
from aching sorrow of working all day
for just enough to feed his wife and kids
till they all die from festering disease,
but still he goes out and plows the red clay.

Looking out the shining blue window glass
from the second floor on the parking lot,
I see the shadow of his little shack
still shimmering in atoms of memory,
and there, where gleaming cars are parked, I see
the farmer himself with baskets of eggs.

His entire life, composed of acts and words,
and the whole world view beaming from is mind,
long ago vanished in the wind of time,
so particles of is body and brain
now float in wind around our spinning globe,
and may settle somewhere to become flowers.