Wheat in a Cornfield

I stand out in the cornfield, alone among strangers

Useless to the farmer who waters and feeds me

The plot of land I sit in, is shaded by the accomplishments of those around me


Proud is the farmer

Of those gracious stalks of golden cobs

Ashamed is the farmer

Of the useless twig of wheat I have grown into


The sky is out of reach for my tiny limbs

As close as a cornplant away

Yet seperated by the difference between us plants


I look up to the corn

Because they are the only things to look up to

They look down on me with a diliberate dominance

As though each kernel underneath their beautiful husks deserves better than to grow next to me


When the air turns chill

The farmer assesses his prized crop

He picks and sows until there is nothing to be picked and sowed

Except for me,

This once infamous, lone, straw

Is now the last survivor of his supposed corn idols

Able to embrace the sky without obstacles

And feel the breeze of the dream filled air that gave strength to my heroes 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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