Thirst

It must have been a novel once

An epic tale, a parched and thirsty, desert quest

Before the winds come

And gather it in a cloudy swirl

to drop upon some distant shore.

A coming of age story

Ripened in the summer’s sun

Then, burned to cinder and ash

Leaving only the glowing embers

of autumn’s dying and rebirth.

A hero’s journey, replete with siren’s song

Haunting the landless oceanic days

With a hint of respite in the sultry ebbs

Only to be tossed once more by the ever looming swells,

Searching the horizon, a flatline of hope

For any sign… a cradle of terra firma.

It must have been a novel once

Before a thousand lines were cut

a thousand more slaughtered

a thousand more, lost to doubt

and so, on and on

Until less than a thousand now are left

Alongside the silvery deep of what remains,

Like great empty banquet halls that wait expectantly

For the waltz to begin with its three quarter time.

A young boy on the concrete edge of night

Relinquishes what holds him fast

Falling headlong into the marble pool

at half passed the midnight moon.

His legs kick furiously

His hands reach knowingly, at what he cannot see

He breaks free!

Taking a deep gasping breath at the fresh sweet air

That only moments ago, could not be found

For even a thousand pieces of gold.

Beneath the tides, the mermaid lives,

the oasis flourishes,

the wheat is baked into bread,

In a place that is and isn’t

In pages and chapters that were stricken before their time.

Leaving us with only a few short verses.

But, what verses they are..

luscious poems of pomegranates, ruby hued and ne’er subdued,

Surely, a novel

If only you read, between the long lost lines…

****

ellie894 November 14, 2021