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Poems
No Sign of Rain
I used to be a fountain of creativity.
Ten years old,
summer days spent
inventing stories
and people
and worlds.
A child-god,
I brought the rain to a new world.
Eleven, twelve years old,
the fountain became a flood
and I drew and wrote and drew
to keep myself from drowning.
Come adolescence, the flood
was a torrent, but
I no longer feared drowning.
Nearly an adult,
the torrent became
an ocean,
and I swam as a dolphin,
as a mermaid,
as an enlightened Atlantian.
Then adulthood sucked it all out
like a cataclysmic fissure,
froze it like a nuclear winter,
dried it up like an exploding sun.
I?ve spent years in this drought,
while the ruins of places
that never were collapse
into dust.
If a drop of water comes,
it?s sucked into the ground
and is gone.
Not even a mirage.
Not even a cruel false hope.
I dream of drowning
and wake up thirsty.
Back to Writing: Poetry: Poems
