With her hands bound

With her hands bound
Above her head
She sways in the wind
Like grass

The night came and took her away
Drops of her blood
Drip from the blades of grass

This is the old story
Of the farmer
Out at night
Blindly scything
In the darkness

Passionate for his harvest
He forgot the scarecrow
Standing there

Wife, he calls out
Wife, where are you?

Author: blackbird212012

I am interested in multimedia work: songwriting, art, and creative writing. I have been involved also in theatre and music performances. View all posts by blackbird212012