Thoughts on the Void

My words are rocks
Too heavy to throw;
Too sharp to catch;
Too permanent to grow.
The smell of petrichor
Haunts these parched lands,
But of the storm
I have been prey
And seek not a tempest.
In the desert-land without hope
That aroma is death
And I vowed upon the sand itself,
Never again.
A fool would stare at the sun–
And a fool more to drown in a cloudless sky
Owing himself nothing gained.
I crave that I bestow,
But of pain and loss is my derecho.
The arid breeze tickles the throat–
A reminder of what is and never was.
So, I stand still
Unable to breathe
Or move,
Or be true
In the absense of my dream.
God, dearest God,
I am wayward
And seek respite,
For with timid voice I whisper
Of the treachery of docility
That breaks the spirit of a lonely soul;
And I wait to feel something–
Anything–
If just to once more have life
And the beating heart
For tomorrow.