You Reap What You Sow(Steven W Kimball) Prologue:

The past half decade has delivered to the American people a growing divisiveness not seen in our country since our Great Civil War. The current political climate has turned brother against brother, father against son and friend against friend. While many portend this situation is the fault of an individual, a political party, or perhaps even the will of a deity; others believe it to be the result of the rich and powerful using the misinformation rampant in our current political system as a means of conforming the masses to patterns and practices benefiting their interests. The following poem is offered as a parable in hopes it be taken as a cautionary statement as to the latter possibility.


I was a farmer tis true.

The crops I tended for you.

I tilled the soil and burnt the oil, but the coffer never grew.

The hens were penned, bovine aligned, hogs turned amidst the sty.

In the face of good, the oxen stood, prevailing in desire,

to gain rewards earned, in fields upturned, their gaze upon the spire.

Beneath the vane their respite lain awaiting their retire.

And so, I too would toil true, amidst the muck and mire.

Looking to the future too, our minds they did conspire.

Till daylights wain and nights refrain its rest we did require.

The night it came and cast its claim upon my heart’s desire.

As to portend the coming end, I listened to the choir.

As if to say, they know the way to save me from the pyre.

So said the Fox to all that watched, stay close and follow me.

I will lead you to the promised land, wherein you shall be free.

Though I pretend you know not when, for in me, must you believe.

All others are fake and in their wake your freedom they relieve.

Casting doubt upon their clout, in this I shall succeed.

For within you I plant the creed of my castigated seed.

And so, in shame I did reclaim, the hate that laid so deep.

Casting out upon the land contempt for man complete.

The blame is them, the umber men, of whom I must compete.

For when they stand and work the land, my profit shall retreat.

In fear I stood of brotherhood, still calling you the liar.

The facts I claim are near to shame as fuel to the fire.

Now I stand upon my land still reaching to acquire,

the wealth I fanned, the promised land, the billions that grew higher.

The ox now dead, the chickens fled, an insurrection in expire.

I lay in dread of life ahead now labeled a pariah.

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