A firm hand bleeds on bristle deeds horns of a crime now stale
From doubts seeds grow thistle weeds, thorns to tear hope's veil
Red stains on martyr fingers lingers pulling strangling plants
Soil wet with blood and sweat from a savior in farmer's pants
Crucified on his hoe so plants will grow in earth broken
His word unheard in dust interred, torn lost in the unspoken
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: January 10th, 2026 03:38
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 72
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
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Comments7
Great write Soren! I love the way you use profound metaphorical language to make your points.
Thank you Dominic for your read and words of support they are most important to me
enjoyed the read,
I thank you for the read and comment my friend
most welcome
Deep and rather emotional! A great write!
Thank you for the read and comment it is always most appreciated
Wow! That image of a savior in farmer’s pants, crucified on his hoe, is striking. It grounds holiness in labor and dirt, making the suffering feel immediate and human. Powerful choice, my dear friend. A fave. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
Thank you my friend for the review and kind supportive words of comment they are always most important to me.
Bit of trouble with the gardening there?! lol.
It is hard planting in rock and sand where only thistles grow. Thanks Orchi for the read and comment it is appreciated
Your poem uses the metaphor of a farmer—or “tiller”—to describe someone who works, suffers, and sacrifices to cultivate hope, faith, or moral renewal in a world hardened by doubt and despair. Good one Soren
Thanks for seeing the message behind the words Gray it is most appreciated
A comparison of sacrifice and love.
Thank you so much for the read and interpretation of this write it is deeply appreciated
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