On this desert plain
I dig this well,
Dreading any rain.
Hoping it will spring
Only from the soul-pool
In cool shadows below.
Then, gone is pain,
Sadness, tears, hate, and fire.
All this will drain
Resulting in the memory-drought
To forget all hell.
Looking up to
Sky-fields and Sun-reign,
This rusted shovel tips.
Across the blue terrain
Travels dust and cloud as
The first rain-tear fell.
No comments:
Post a Comment