Harvest maiden:
Seeds of the fruit harvest split open, anthesis germinates at the move of Demeter’s hand.
The harvest maiden in the month of new life, new light.
The cry of a distraught mother,
Demeter still can’t find her daughter.
Rational minds forge paths of greatness, mould a world of story in their hands.
Etch your own history,
Carve out your own name,
But don’t think a world set on fire,
Will ever be a world set the same.
-
Author:
Georgia Watson (
Offline) - Published: September 10th, 2025 10:57
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
A good metaphorical read and Demeter needs to know that her daughter resides below. Those pomegranate seeds pack a punch
Thank you x
You are most welcome
Georgia, this is mythic and evocative…the cry of Demeter woven into the call to carve one’s own history. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛ Wonderful!
Thank you x
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.