Poem: In the Thirsty Hours of Living

Photo by USGS on Unsplash

In the thirsty hours of living,

there is an unoccupied terrace leaning towards the sun.

As I stand naked and depleted,

my presence brings tension

to the strings beneath the bow.

Divinely debilitated,

I am un-imprisoned from

a fortified city, now abandoned.

Staring upwards into bound pages,

My relevance, dripping repetitively from my tongue,

Is formed from the worn pathway

To the narrowing scope of Touchable Truth.

Fragments of whispers

float downwards,

casting shadows

past wealthy darkness

where my words are collected

by the fitting room Attendant

of Exhaustive Expanse.

Centuries of Patience

Emerge to robe me in

Belonging’s Song;

Freeing far-flung melodies

that fall like petals

as Oneness takes my hand,

leading me Alongside

the river called “Named”.