Poem: But to Wheat

millstone enhanced

But to Wheat

Grind away.
Stone against stone.
Me in the middle.
A painful process I have grown accustomed to.
Hard against hard.
Heartless against blindness.
You can hear the crumbling.

Some rejoice in it.
Some wince.
Most never hear

As the grinding breaks everything it touches,
a slow crushing.
nothing remaining the same.

I do not miss the pain of it all.
I have no desire to return, but still
I am grateful,
for what the millstone has made of me,
that I remain at all,
Not ground to dust,

But to wheat.

About this poem.

I am oddly grateful for those who hurt me and sought to hurt me in life. They have made me something I might never have become. Stronger. More patient. More kind.

Less judgemental.

Tom

PS – the millstone lies near a small cabin that my father and his father built in Surry County, Va, the year before I was born.

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s