“What the Rain Teaches”

I walk in the scorched desert of my life:
A traveler,
A wanderer.

My eyes behold mirages of purest lies:

My sore limbs cannot seem to move towards
The Promised Land,
The Debated Land.

My tongue weeps for water, and my skin, shelter.
Will I survive?
Will I survive?

Then the clouds roll in a foam of grey smoke,
over me.

The wind quickly picks up and caresses me
In whisperings,
of deliverance.

Aqua drops of mercy fall on this weary head
“There is hope for the dead.”


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