Of Sudden Drought
When will it rain?
When will it pour?
Dry brittle beds,
Deep lonely shore.
So draught commenced
Without seeing without knowing
Belief blindly hid
Each signal quickly growing.
As ghosts emerge with
Muted horns and skinless drum
Parade the memories snaking
Through an empty slum.
Too weak to clap
Or will to try
The ducts are cold
Each pale and dry.
There sits just one
Dissolved in thought
No tears are found,
Begged, borrowed, or bought.
Then grief plateaus
While numbness levels off
Silent prayer for tears
Gently and soft.
Dreams once flourished
Distilled to dust
Solutes left behind
Of fragile trust
Somehow some way
The tide will rise above the pain
When it will pour.
When it will rain.