A Heavy Harvest Poem by Elvis Lantan

How could I not grow weary?

I see your hands
How they have aged
And your face—
Your face has followed

They care nothing for gritting teeth
Or clenched fists
And in the fields we plow
Mixing our blood
And paying with sweat
They come to reap all

How costly it is!
To be surrounded by tyranny
When did they place that veil upon your brow?
When did our ears mute reason?

Oh how your hands have aged—
How lifeless they have become
And how your face
And theirs
And mine
Have followed….