He wavered,
A carved hand brushing against dry, split lips,
Parched beyond measure, he blinked up at the folding sky,
Lifeless eyes awaiting a promise,
Which tiptoed eventually,
Like needles mocking glass,
Darkening the ground with it’s whisper,
So that the man could hear,
And find solace in the silence,
Of new seed breaking ground,
Old rivers running anew,
Dying breaths finding again,
Moments of living few.
Await me on the other side
Of the ocean which shivers with every wave,
Of the wasteland that whistles with each shadow.
Await me on the other side,
Beside mountains which wail their solace,
When they cannot turn and see for once,
The sun rise afore their back.
By the brambles that flow inwards,
You shall find my voice draped in ornate canopy,
Reading to your weary ears,
The lullabies long forgotten,
From the feeble cast of mind.
Await me,
Between paths torn asunder,
Neath moon guiding with silver hand,
To a land long lost amidst the tide,
Of memories piled upon,
Hands defying time.
Await me, friend,
So that we could journey together,
Laughs striking the midnight blue,
In search of smooth pebbles,
Treading sands with steps anew.
THE HUMAN ANVIL 