The scythe swings back and
forth ever so rhythmically.
Demiurges rise.

Words effortlessly
flow through neural connectors
swinging back and forth.

Outside of one’s self
muses congregate and sing
and swing poetry.

Words on paper swing
back and forth rhythmically like
the farmer’s sharp scythe

cutting through to truth
in a pleasing harmony —
penned effortlessly,

cutting down to the ground
both wheat and chaff together —
now wheat can be saved.