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Click hereYou will find it,
Hidden behind walls of green
Acres of cornfusion
Whole grain goodness sought
by those with half a brain.
why do our sacks of bran
seem half a measure short?
But, the journey is long;
it winds through the maize
of studied illusion
cultivated for 12,000 years
by the sons of farmers
who build strong walls
around their fields
then conjure farie glimmers
revealing naught.
Pour a rye and contemplate
all that is not seen.
but I can see why you would think that.
Thank you A9, did you see the hidden part?
the writing flows and I like "cornfusion" and the way history is built into the narrative of the poem. I don't agree with the sentiment, but when you've lived (as I once did) with an alcoholic who damn near killed himself and hurt everyone around him, you tend to focus on the other side of the picture. But that's me. You've written good poetry here. 5ed.