Figurative Drowning

Poetry feels fleeting tonight.  Yet, I continue my attempt to write….it.

End attempt.

My child is drowning (figuratively); otherwise I’d be in the water trying to pull her out; which could prove easier than saving her from the unknown. Water is easy right?  I know how it fills the lungs, suffocates, steals, and kills.  I know how to pull her up and out, breathe so that she can breathe, back to “normal”.  Water never a shadow in the waiting.

The wicked, heartless unknown is reclaiming my child.  Like water wastes away to a drought. Gone are the life giving brooks, resting places of trees, nourishing cornfields, and simple beauty. Vacancy fills her eyes.  Bands around her waist no longer small enough to keep her covered.  Sadness oozes from her skin, her countenance, yes even her smile.

It hasn’t rained for weeks.

I would do anything to make it rain.

Anything.

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