The wait for love | Arid

Unsure if it’s expectation or hope

The heart lies confused

Waiting for it’s succour

Preparing for the arrival

Like an arid abandoned desert

That craves for a drop of water

This barren fist size muscle

Wants to feel another of it’s kind

Once abandoned in a world so harsh

Cries out night and day for an ear

The seasons walk in and out

But the dry piece of flesh intact.

Picked by a few and poked by others

The hope that rose was vividly false

But the only joy attained at times

Was due to the false hopes that appeared.

Bruised, battered, discarded and devastated

Vows to become one with the sand

Digs an enormous fist sized grave 

Jumps inside and ceases to hope.


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