Due Season

I feel I’ve been past due,
Milk carton expiration.
Old news,
How long do I have to keep on waiting?
I planted with blood, sweat, and tears,
Almost on empty.
I need an oil change for my gears,
Can’t get to Jiffy.

But I’m digging deep within me.

In well doing I refuse to get weary.
Because that’s the key to this thing clearly.

I’m not past due,
What a misstatement.
I’m closer than I think,
What a misplacement.

I see a cloud forming above my fields,
Let it rain and bring the increase it yields.

It’s my season.
My harvest is wrapped up in my believing.
-David M.

What are your thoughts on this week’s Poetic Flow?