Desert Rain

It's been a long time since the great flood Waters ran into the deserted river valley; now the humid air speaks its own scorched earth policy in gentlemanly affection - the sky doffs its cumulus hat like an optimist ata funeral, who thinks it is a wedding it attends, while watching the man's constitution rot away. Only thoughts of losing you remain, I imagined this time to be much less harder on me, you being gone. Hope was once a comforting water-bed prone to excess, and squelching out all despair; but, as I think of such fancy the wasteland of my heart expands to encompass the deadpan turpitude of remorse. The desert so large near uncrossable. Every rock and whitewashed skeleton a barrier to the mind, which forages onward, looking for a satiety of anykind. A monument, perhaps a mirage, erected in the distance to coerce my memory (the only thing that keeps me whole) to corrode - nature's subtle way erasing all traces of the past by leaving no deposit for the future. If but a single protest arose out of the man's waterless soul, would it come from what organs managed to thrive in such hostile conditions. Just like the constructed organism, the environment where creatures depend on one the other, and those who are meant to survive do. Emotion came in torrents, the water in waves, life in tributary jetstreams. It only took a sudden spark of hope to ignite the granite overcast sky, and then like fire, fast came the storm of thunder, lightning splitting the night anda sonicboom splitting the silence into a rush of free will. An ascension of sand saying: I want to live I want to exist here I am don't count me out Then the desert rain came.