Poem By Trevor Schulte

I stand forlorn on the edge of the farm,
Where grow the young plants of deeds,
I see growing, springing the sown corn,
Amid the sticky poisonous trailing weeds.

Yellow sick, pale and frail is the crop,
But the weeds too healthy, too green,
They grow as the demonial desires do,
How should I weed, make the farm clean?

Though they are poisonous yet sweet,
More delicious than the daintier food,
That is why we deceive and we cheat,
And brood them, brood them brood.

To weed them I resolve again and again,
They ripen soon unguarded, unattended,
Without the sunshine and without the rain,
And at last I lose the battle unammended.

Comments about Jesusfreak

The poem is a mirror of contemporary society its fashions, modes of thought. Truly Uzma.

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Other poems of SCHULTE

' Enneagram (Revised)

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' Gurgling Stream [revised]

Knowing the little alien in my head was filled
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an earphone in only the left ear

A Myriad Heroines

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Escape, for me, is reading a book
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' Continue To Live (Revised)

A sweet grey car replaced my noble Jeep,
it is utterly alien to me; oh, I always knew
this day would come, the Jeep's upkeep
was an extra expense we did not need

A Hundred Spells

Turandot, Puccini’s opera, told by stylised illustrations in a book
the heart of an Ice Princess frozen by the Moon Goddess, three
riddles posed to every Prince who wished to be her suitor on pain
of death if he could not get the answers right, beheaded by