Reaper

Reap the green fields clear and well
Sow the seeds and never tell
Wear the scythe and hide the plow
Grow the pure and kill the foul

Slaughter stock and feed the young
Whip the mule and hold his tongue
Work him hard till fall of dawn
Revel in his silent brawn

Quiet the wind, calm the rain
Give noise an ill sense of shame
Step lightly though greenest fields
Choosing wisely what you yield

Red Opium

Formed figures feel no pain
Their souls find shelter from the red rain
Clay built from clay to remold earthen masks
Concealing foul faces drunkenly cast
Nights shine darker
Pale clay grows starker
And strong comes the opium
Into a love melted utopian
Love from the poppy
It's love's mold the seeds copy
And clay melts to mold
Useless, ancient, old
And so love the forms
Sanguine in red storms