Silos

The seeds I’ve sown
Scattered to the wind
The crop
Long ago harvested
Stored in silos of sorrow.

Not everything can be
Explained
By youthful exuberance
And misadventure.

Indeed, I was a man
Knowing the consequence
Of allowing his heart
Its course and reign.

I may shove my heart aside
Bury fists
In pockets
Steeling my spine
Against her loss
But posture and resolve
Do little
To anesthetize the burn.

I garnered this crop.

I tilled that ground
Labored that field
And gathered that grain.

I sowed the wind
And reaped the whirlwind.

A man as stupidly bold as I
Ought not settle his soul
In open land.