In Driest of Lands One Loses Means

I, Your bride, wish to settle

my head upon strengthened shoulders.

My burdens have labored my breath, yet

I have done nothing more than lay on

desert sand, in wait for pleasant speech.

The water canteen is empty.

I fill inside with sand beneath to know I

am not lonely.

It is clear-spring has died within,

around me.

My eyes must be deceiving this

weakening body.

But, oh sweet songs of the birds have

come to waken thee-

even the leaves are turning down,

making a path to drink from a well of


My bridegroom-I see You, I am coming!

Wait, please-don’t leave me this way.

Weeping over the cross from which

death called You away.

A veil of mourning covering my face,

left with Beloved dreams-

a mirage I will never touch in this

forsaken space.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s