Gather my harvest,
then burn the dry field,
give up on it's parchedness,
leave the gates unsealed.
I may be nothing more than
a no-man's-land,
but deep inside I bear
treasures that I keep unrevealed.
Return me to the years of
ignorance, of unawareness,
for these miles you see
dressing the vacancy around me,
never saw a farmer's face,
by no means been reaped,
and aren't ready to be.
Hence...Whatever...
---
I know you may suggest me many stuff,
especially about the closing line,
but trust me no other words will satisfy my
mood at the moment.
