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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2019281
by Logan
Rated: E · Poetry · Inspirational · #2019281
Where do they come from really?
Crop Circles

We ring through silver shadows
Through the cornrows of our hearts
Trusting in the scarecrows
Inert they play their part
Hoisted on their crucifix
For farmers sins they pray
A lonely job, a thankless task
An ugly role to play
Until that first crop circle's carved
In structured rows we’ve sewn
Labyrinths carved in the maize
Their origins unknown
Formed around bound scarecrow hearts
No longer barren lines
Radial spokes and flowing arcs
No longer held, confined
Till the crows, they start a flocking
Scouting from afar
Seeing patterns carved in crops
The image smooth, it jars
As word begins to travel
On caws and beaten wings
As our livelihood, our lifelong plans
Are patterned into things
Things that don’t make sense to us
We never stop to see
The beauty that surrounds our souls
Beneath our wings and feet
But for those who stop occasionally
Or have the nerve to fly
The strength to gild reluctant souls
… it’s their echoes that cry
Ring through the golden labyrinth
Crop circles of the heart
And smiling ‘neath the burlap
The scarecrows play their part
© Copyright 2014 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2019281