Like a desert I am dry, parched and cracked
in the head because reason has deserted me.
I am thirsty for understanding but no rain falls,
the skies as barren as an abandoned bookshelf.
But look! Look! My eyes beg of me endlessly,
and the on the seventh glance I, prophet, see.
A cloud in the shape of a hand proffered proclaims
the sea falling from the sky like salty salvation.
I drink so deeply my skin sings like a plucked string.
My eyes finally open and I can now understand.
The hand of salvation, my hand, touches my face
and I see with my fingers as the tears trace rivers
of knowledge across the landscape of past pains.
I can’t! Why won’t anyone realize that I can’t!
But I am a prisoner to my situation, bound by love
so I grasp the boulder of expectations like Sisyphus
and struggle always onward dragging the failures
and misguided dreams of others like chains behind me.
My lips still move, a mad prophet prattling soundlessly.
I am weaving a spell to remember this dream
that one day this hand will open like a cloud
and water will stream down my face and drown me
in a river of reality and carry my boulder away.
I dream that maybe one day I will learn to swim.
And finally I will be free. But for today, I push.