Water

Things come easily for some,
hard for others,
and not at all for the cursed.

Words flow like water,
but in a drought, rarely does even a trickle flow
through the dry, cracked earth.

They fall like rain,
drop drop drop,
words upon words,
some meaningless, some meaningful.

Which words are which?
Can we even tell?
We'll never know.

So many things I want to,
nay, need to say.
But whenever I turn on the faucet,
all I receive are an intermittent few drips.

It isn't fair,
life isn't fair,
how can words come so easily to some?

A small twist of the wrist,
and a waterfall erupts,
flooding the sink, reigning down
upon the floor, quickly drowning anything
so unlucky as to be in its way.
Words are tricky and deceitful.

The sky, blue and clear,
lends us false hope as soon,
out of nowhere, a storm arises
and quickly destroys.

Then, in an instant,
one heartbeat,
it is gone
once more.

Words can also be predictable,
just like the flooding of the Nile
or the rising and falling tides.

Words are water.