wither

standing alone on the shore of hope's oasis
watching the pebbles of disappointment
gradually displace its waters
each plunk, perhaps, insignificant
until sheer volume renders
shallow its pull

it no longer matters whether the promise
is half empty or half fool
there's still not enough
hope remaining to quench
a desiccated heart's thirst

the sun draws blood through skin
tenderized by the sting of blown sand
leaving parched dreams
and echoes of passion
waiting in deception's desert for love to rain

~ ~ ~

Report Story

byAlessia Brio© 4 comments/ 1706 views/ 0 favorites