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.

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