Drought In Waiting
Beginning of such languid calm
Becomes a trickle of moisture
A tear drop unexpected
Denied by the hand of determination
Still
Being but human
Even as evolution grants porous absorption
Capacity reaches maximum
Where does such overflow go?
Beneath the surface it lurks
Gathering momentum
Rising up
Without restraint
An innocent emotion of nature disrupted
Knows not the distant shores it might need
The life it might cling to
Influence
And consume
So it goes
Innocence of hope
Conditioned faith
Unexpected fear of failure
So human we are
Bent on compartmentalizing
Ill equipped to understand
The amorphous origins of weeping
The nature of its needs
The compassion inherent with its lessons
Somewhere in the cosmos
Ideas of moist release evolved
Presenting Man with
Tears
Rain
Streams
Rivers
Oceans
Our world
Of cumulus billow
Of swollen tear ducts
Where all weeping
Knows one another
Embracing its joy
Its tragedy
Its destiny
Labor's teaching
A drop
A tsunami
All as one
The Universe's irreversible harmony
Yet
We continue this cosmic nescience
Discernment's moist dearth of resolve
A drought in waiting
to weep is to know the joy and ease that follows. As such you have said so well.
Budd
To weep is man's disgrace
I find it altogether too odd
That such is written . . .