Dry
I am shriveling.
Drip, drip, drip.
There used to be a river of water coursing through my veins.
Where did it go?
I am not even thirsty.
I walk on and on and on into a land of shifting sand.
Where is the Beauty, the color, the aliveness?
It evaporated into the heat of uncertainty.
Will this end?
Step, step, step.
Will I find the streams once again and soak my tired feet,
rooted and growing into a tree of life?
Will the birds sing and the wind blow?
Oh wind, stir in me.
Drive me towards the water.
Quench my parched lips
or else I will die.
4-27-14
Photo by Adobe Stock/Bluesky60
4 comments
Your poetry is haunting and beautiful. The hope you hold out in calling on teh wind to direct you to the water is gospel, Teryn. It is the Spirit – the heavenly Wind – that directs us to Jesus – the fountain of Living Water.
My prayers are with you, friend.
Tim
Thanks, Tim. I feel as if I might be coming out of this season. The Spirit is indeed blowing. It’s just been an interesting time of life. Thanks for the prayers!
Seasons can be so diverse, and we expect so much from ourselves. Grief, in my experience, can be so consuming that there just isn’t a lot of emotion left over. Glad you are seeing the sunshine again. Thanks for sharing your words with us.
Thanks for commenting, Janene. Yes, grief can be very consuming, especially on top of everything else that happens in life. Sometimes, I just wish it were over and done, but I know that’s not how it works. Need to give myself some rest.