Unchecked Growth



The wheat grew,

Fed by his blood and her tears.

The windlass turned,

Ever creaking like a high pitched church bell.

The gun smoked,

Giving the lingering odor of smoke so sweet.



She had cried with pain,

Then the Morphine came

And the giant crab took her.

He held his pain aloft,

Like a guiding star,

Except it gave no light.

Misters Wesson and Smith came,

And Mr. Remington took him.

And the wheat grew.



Patrick W. Crocker ©



The Lair

The Hoard
1