The Desert


I was panting

Eyes blurred

Hands raking the parched earth


Mouth dry, full of dirt

I say your name

Softly at first


Without warning

Drops to quench my thirst

Pour onto my face


From the heavens

I see clashing

Light and dark


In slow motion

softness turns to storm

I'm tossed


By the wind

My frail form thrashes

Yet is glad for the relief


The draught is gone

But storms wage

Warring against me


I wasn't ready

For the tides that came

Could not hold my own


But then


Calm


The desert gone

The storm subsided

My tired form


Taken up


Rescued




Whitney




Photo by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash





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