dara.cv
08-18-2018, 04:29 AM
What happened to our love?
Dry as the sonoran, cracked and parched.
Never sets the blazing sun,
roaring and treacherous.
The giver of life
the betrayer.
Where we once warmed our faces
our lips are rough, burnt.
There's no water here.
There's no water
to quench this thirst.
The cracks rift further,
a canyon
in the valley of our love.
Our silence rebounds
upon the walls of our bodies
and the all the space in-between.
Words may be spoken,
yet silence still sounds,
between our hearts
and all of space.
If only the clouds above us,
which cast their shadows,
hiding our fears,
would give us some water.
Some water to quench this thirst.
A flood of some kind of emotion,
Anger. Sadness. Loss. Yearning.
To drench us within our tears.
Is there not a seep,
even some murky dankness,
to sip from?
To nourish something left.
What happened to our love?
When once so giving
and living,
sprouted life
in the corridors of the space between you and me.
Riparians full of joy, aspirations, and love.
Greenness, when fresh and new,
from what seemed to be inexhaustible wellsprings,
now run dry,
Leaving only broken things:
bones, earth, twigs, and streams.
Cracked.
Dry as the sonoran, cracked and parched.
Never sets the blazing sun,
roaring and treacherous.
The giver of life
the betrayer.
Where we once warmed our faces
our lips are rough, burnt.
There's no water here.
There's no water
to quench this thirst.
The cracks rift further,
a canyon
in the valley of our love.
Our silence rebounds
upon the walls of our bodies
and the all the space in-between.
Words may be spoken,
yet silence still sounds,
between our hearts
and all of space.
If only the clouds above us,
which cast their shadows,
hiding our fears,
would give us some water.
Some water to quench this thirst.
A flood of some kind of emotion,
Anger. Sadness. Loss. Yearning.
To drench us within our tears.
Is there not a seep,
even some murky dankness,
to sip from?
To nourish something left.
What happened to our love?
When once so giving
and living,
sprouted life
in the corridors of the space between you and me.
Riparians full of joy, aspirations, and love.
Greenness, when fresh and new,
from what seemed to be inexhaustible wellsprings,
now run dry,
Leaving only broken things:
bones, earth, twigs, and streams.
Cracked.