Poems for the Harvest

I have taken a long break from posting poetry, but this month I have decided to write a poem a day to post here. This is today’s:

The Plowman
I once was a wandering warrior,
A ronin, a thief, a wandering man
Lost in all the painful pleasure 
This world offers, and I took it on the chin.

I wandered upon a field of wheat 
And gleaned upon the lonely border.
Without creed, or oath, or love–
Without faith–a knight without an order.

Then the sowing farmer found me
And laid a feast before my broken soul.
The harvest here is plenty, my son.
Join my family, he said, come rest within my home.

So I gave up my sword and shield 
To plow slow rows and plant small seeds.
A light yoke I carry through his fields
To touch the ground and fill their needs. 
My sword lies discarded, wrapped in lilies
Rusting until reforged as a gardener's tool
To shape the new earth in a new kingdom
Made in the image of God's own fool.

Some nights I weep with all the breaking
And the low embers are threatened by my tears–
The smallest flame within my soul yearns
For healing ground and returned years.
Deep in the night the wandering comes again
And bids me journey to deep despair
But when I fight the demons in the night,
The demons without and deep within,
I find my Father always there.

I find my Brother’s wounds still showing
Before my Father’s eyes still pleading
And join his suffering in the fields
To heal the dark earth’s deepest needing.

I find souls torn deep within the hearts of men
And with slow and steady hand I try to sew
The bleeding rifts of heaven and earth together
With all the hope and love and faith I know.

I have traded in the sword for a plough, 
I have traded in the spear for needle and thread,
But for all the love I have been given to give
Only my Brother can raise the dead. 

Le me be
Nevermore the wandering warrior, 
Nevermore–please Lord–render,
Nevermore a violent coward,
Only ever a plowman and a mender.