Drought
Like the long a waited rain during the drought of the summer, my inspiration alludes me. My hands are shaking and tingling. My head flooding with words that string themselves together into thoughts that weave themselves into stories, but it is still only in my head. I try so desperately to will my hands that seem to defy me to spill the ink from my pen into the paper in the form of words, my hand does not move.
Stories untold are worth a pound of ashes. An artist who does not express is dead to their art.
Help me I’m dehydrating. Sky pour onto me your tears. Let them over come me and sweep me into their depth. Let the current of the rivers you cried carry me into a world of water.
I’m a Pisces who once roam that world. Now I left on the sands of time…waiting for the rain. The heat like my emotions grip me tight and I feel my last breath leaving me. Rain won’t you come? Sky will you not cry for me? I been away for such a long time. Will you not embrace this fish for one more ride?
The rain hasn’t come and my tears are made of sand. The wrinkles of my face was the last of the waves of the ocean I’ve seen. It has been such a long time since I had sight of anything other than the pictures of the words I’ve gather. The words I have sewn.
My body useless as it shut downs trying to drain one last story that will not go unborn, untold…But nothing comes to my hand…it lies useless. I have drawn my last breath and have given myself to the sands of time. I… I’m nothing now
Faded into nothingness, for that all death holds for me. For in death we are only our stories told and in nothingness we are stories untold.
Stories untold are worth a pound of ashes. An artist who does not express is dead to their art.
Help me I’m dehydrating. Sky pour onto me your tears. Let them over come me and sweep me into their depth. Let the current of the rivers you cried carry me into a world of water.
I’m a Pisces who once roam that world. Now I left on the sands of time…waiting for the rain. The heat like my emotions grip me tight and I feel my last breath leaving me. Rain won’t you come? Sky will you not cry for me? I been away for such a long time. Will you not embrace this fish for one more ride?
The rain hasn’t come and my tears are made of sand. The wrinkles of my face was the last of the waves of the ocean I’ve seen. It has been such a long time since I had sight of anything other than the pictures of the words I’ve gather. The words I have sewn.
My body useless as it shut downs trying to drain one last story that will not go unborn, untold…But nothing comes to my hand…it lies useless. I have drawn my last breath and have given myself to the sands of time. I… I’m nothing now
Faded into nothingness, for that all death holds for me. For in death we are only our stories told and in nothingness we are stories untold.