Drop of Water

The droplet hangs a moment,
Collecting courage,
Mustering strength,
Preparing for its descent.

Hovering at the tip of the golden leaf,
It gathers itself together,
Ready to take the plunge,
Willing to engage what lays below.

The tension broken,
A sturdy platform left to dry alone,
Our swirling mass hangs but a moment longer,
Waiting for the earth to rise in response.

Slowly twisting through space,
Our sphere of molten humidity,
Unraveling a secret story,
Somersaulting a voiceless song.

It cannot fall forever,
This troupe of collected dews,
Despite the lethargic tumbling,
Soon must brace itself.

For that which lays below,
Will not be parted,
Can not be negotiated with,
Must stand true.

And with that thought,
In such a cataclysmic instant,
The droplet finds its mark,
Shape swiftly eradicated.

Striking the bridge of her nose,
Splashing in all directions,
Finding purchase upon her cheek,
The gallant unit is dispersed.

Its secret story quickly silenced,
With the flick of her wrist,
Our droplet wiped away,
Scattered to the wind once more.

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Barren Wastes

The sun baked clay,
Begging for moisture,
Cracking from exhaustion,
Desolate for miles.

But to taste the sweet nectar,
To relieve the desiccation,
To alleviate the pounding,
Splitting skin.

The azure sky defies her,
Reduces her to dust,
Exposes her weakness,
Composes her crevices.

No amount of tears can sate her thirst,
No mere drizzle will suffice,
The burning sands,
Need satisfaction.

If only for the rains,
The wilted bramble cries aloud,
“Temptation, drench my soul!
For my body is without!”

When morning finds the earth,
The barrens drier still,
The scorched grasses depleted yet,
The clay defeated once again.