Parched of water
Cracking under the scorching sun
Exsiccate canyons shrinking, shrivelling apart
Just a drop -
These islands of death scream through dry lips.
Another crevice is formed from the opened orifice
My psyche
This desolate desert of a soul.
This disarrayed puzzle will never fit back together
My God my God
Why have I left you for so long?
I don't want to remember when you reigned here last
If I could
I would cry out, welcome you again
But this sandpaper throat allows for no saving sonance
It’s too late
A drop will only bead on contact
Too calloused for containing any nourishing lifeblood
River revive
schismed, as I have made myself
Flood the abyss of this liquidated carcass
Brittle bones
Breathe on, breathe on this arid valley
Baptize me; quicken the dull throb of this once yours rot heart
Just preserver
Soften, mould and kiln this hard clay
Fill this tureen and eve's apple will sing again
Oh west wind
That returned your breathe to artery
Within this cage a soul softly finds breath for the first time
Newly born
A wasteland thriving and flowering
This new rainforest blooms only to please its harvester
Once dry, wet
Once dead and deserted, now alive
Once self-defiled and desecrated now whole and made right.














Comments
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In this cold world there's warmth somewhere
It's at the cross, the cross alone
and its not too structured, it was easy to be flexible in - so just make up your own structure!
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I'm pro-life. That includes post-womb.
400,000 deaths. Stop the genocide. Be aware.
{www.savedarfur.org}
"It is paramount for me to know that I am an artist and a Christian. They are inseperable from me." - Krystyna Sanderson
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"I don't need to a compass to tell me which way the wind shines"
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