~ The Wasteland ~
In a wasteland,
Thirst and hunger go on for days without relief.
In every direction,
There are only cacti and tumbleweeds.
As the tongue clings to the mouth and
The lips dry out from a lack of use and no moisture,
The body wearies of the journey.
Mirages begin to appear in the distance.
But the water spots turn out to be nothing,
Nothing more than illusions
Created out the need of the moment.
After a while, you get desperate.
One is tempted to draw water from anywhere,
To draw water with abandon
To draw from the parched sand itself
To draw water without concern
For personal safety or social scrutiny.
Just to quench the dire thirst,
You will draw from the contaminated pond
or find yourself digging in the dry dirt.
Denying the prickling needles,
you chop up a cactus.
Suitable animals for food are too fast and too few.
The only hope in the wasteland . . .
Is . . .
getting out or being rescued.
by M.G. Maness, 1993
2nd poem of 7 in my book PreciousHeart-BrokenHeart
with these and in order of appearance (click & see them):
1- What Kind of Wanderer
5- Hope-Trip of a Broken Heart
6- The Dirge
7- Beyond the Black Oak Wood Door
~ Click Here to e-mail me at: MG@PreciousHeart.net ~