Midnight Crops

Silver scythe in a field blooming with infinity,
Reaping withered crops aged eons,
Blooming meadows ruled by solitary psyche,
Eclipsing shadows cast by grievous pantheon.

As sickle cuts through nightly cloak,
Pleas and wishes might come true,
Murder obscured by cosmic smoke,
Stars sown into fabric of night, wishing to pursue.

Endless ellipses to charter since astral dawn,
Severed by heavy slice of heavier blade,
Gazing at the harvest of era long bygone,
Never knowing which crop lost to the inexorable fade.

Beyond the bounds of human eyes,
Restless machines scan the onyx skies,
Yearning to describe the flowers budding every night,
Till they drown in the grim tide of daylight.

Waterfalls spewing rivers to battle the hands,
Plucking the life out of blossoms beyond time,
Dooming us but nurturing ineffable grasslands,
Never deified, cursed and still turned sublime.