#419 (even the elders)

Maniac

running

for his life

and those of others

marching to the beat

of an invisible orchestra

only pausing to look

at his reflection, fleeting

in a window or a drop

of dew on somber grass

in the hours of awakening

sunflowers.

The draught puts

everything on hold and

even the elders are screaming

their unheard calls for watery

relieve. Where is the water witch?

Let her cut open those clouds

ripe with rain, let the flood swallow

the parched and unparched

all the same.

He doesn’t care

as long as they all continue

to grow and flower, his

shadow keeps on sprouting

tentacles.

© Matthias Geh, 17th July 2018

 

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