Harvest Cycles

Peace does sit on woven thrones,
Where peace does prosper,
Die in flame.

Peace does thrive on hope alone,
For death is but the heart to blame.

It scatters grain upon the sky,
Watch its promise, light and true.
A king may build a mighty throne;
To sit on it, would never do.

For words, like husks, will fall away,
Emptied of their growing seed.
In the wind, so fierce a fray
They hold but whispered, drifting deed.

In the end, the riches free
Are paid with those with alms to spare.
Riches sowed and feasted glee
Reborn, a hope with little care.