Questioning the rhythm to which my heart finds its approval I am disquieted within.
Does my joy merely ride behind conditional sighs of relief?
The wells I’m drawing from warn me that they’re empty yet still I pull buckets of thirsty air from their silenced depths.
How long will these hands hold so tightly to the rope which I’ve appointed to save me?
Hunger bruises the walls of my heart in violent protest to emptiness.
I ache.
Will my lips forever defy the cup that’s been so freely set before me?
No, they will not.
This thirst must be quenched.
No comments:
Post a Comment