WE WAIT FOR THE NIGHT

We wait for the night,

dry from the sun,

weak to our roots.

We yearn for moisture,

petals limp,

stems drooping. 

We wait for the night,

for the moonlight

to ease our pain.

We wait for the dew

to quench our thirst,

to replenish our souls.

We wait for the sun

to lift its fiery head

and begin its daily ritual.

We are ready

to face the new day

with arms lifted.

WAIT FOR THE NIGHT

Wilting.

Dry.

Strength taken

by the hot sun.

Need moisture.

Need shade.

Wait for the night.

Wait for the moon

to soothe your pain.

Dew in the morning to

to quench your thirst.

Be ready for a new day.

WAIT FOR THE NIGHT

Wilting.
Dry.
Strength taken
by the hot sun.
Need moisture.
Need shade.
Wait for the night.
Wait for the moon
to soothe your pain.
Dew in the morning to
to quench your thirst.
Be ready for a new day.

PICTURE PERFECT

Perfect lines cast in the sand.
Had they been made by man?
Or could the waves had made them
when they lapped upon the shore?
Bringing moisture to the hot sand.
Leaving behind their own
distinctive footsteps.
Footsteps that cannot be duplicated.
Temporary footsteps until the next day
when they appear again.
Like magic?
No, like nature.

THE PERFECT MELODY

The air feels heavy.
Laden with moisture.
Clouds roll in.
The sky grows darker.
Then you hear the first drops.
The water pounding on the roof
in a staccato melody of its own.
Pound, pound, pound.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rain washes our streets
and clears our minds.
Preparing us for a new day.