A secret whispered into dust
Beneath the rumbling grey
The sky above, a groaning husk,
Brims and fades away
I’ve coughed up dust now for so long
Forgotten how to breathe
But when the first drops fall they don’t stop
For you or me
Hear the cracked mouths cry for rain
The dry land thirst for water
We slit their throats in sacrifice
For our sons and daughters
Praying for a future
k**ing for a new day
Be careful what you wish for
Lest it all be washed away
After the dry years
Let fall the rain
A curse on all your houses, those were the words that were said before the crimson herald came to deliver the message of rain. A robed envoy of deluge and flood against a bloated, black horizon, stood before the prince of the thousand year storm. Engorge your lustful mouths, it said, and choke down the sodden waters of yours prayers.
A thousand lives ago
I dreamed of a distant place
Where winding waters flowed
With each drop the pain erased
And drowning in the hopes that we set aloft on diseased wings
Harbored tales of rain in the shelter that our dreams bring
Return us to the soil when we’re cold and soft and leaking
Forgive us all the sins that we spent as we were seeking
The mythological figure of Charon appeared to the Greeks as first an unkempt and then a kindly ferryman, pilot of the boat that carried the dead across the river Styx to the shore of eternity. But this river has two shores, one in life and one in d**h, and as I stand before this great and distant body of water, I realize I know not on which side I find myself, or if I even care.
A pound of flesh and silver
Rest on eyes that see no more
Two coins to pay the boatman
That ferries us to the shore
Here comes the century storm
The drought shall come to pa**
Now ghosts and memories float up
From the distant past
And drowning in the hopes that we set aloft on diseased wings
Harbored tales of rain in the shelter that our dreams bring
Return us to the soil when we’re cold and soft and leaking
Forgive us all the sins that we spent as we were seeking
(All washed away)
A pound of flesh and silver
(All washed away)
Rest on eyes that see no more
(All washed away)
Two coins to pay the boatman
(All washed away)
That ferries us to the shore
(All washed away)
This was the curse that the consul sent, an aching thirst that can’t be quenched. I realize now I know not on which side I find myself, or what I hoped to find, stood before the prince of a thousand year storm.