The Thirst
The old man’s spirit failed to think,
eyes unfocused,
he couldn’t even blink,
he was so thirsty, he just needed a drink,
thoughts were like sparks,
flying so fast,
but it wouldn’t last,
he sensed the harm,
as the tension ran up his arm,
through his head,
like power through a high voltage line,
he thought he was going to die,
but he was already dead,
he was wrapped in the fabric of darkness,
breathing, but no breath,
living in death,
lost souls would scream,
it filled the air,
then he heard the unmistakable
splatter of a stream,
very near,
hearing the constant swish
and the bubbling of the water,
he felt like a fish,
tossed onto the dry land,
the devastation of the thirst took command,
onward he walked,
as the demons chattered and talked,
tempted by the stream,
he lingered in his own hell,
and in repeated waves,
the terrain rose and fell,
sprinkles of water kept hitting his feet,
but when he bent down,
to place his hand to the ground,
he felt it hardened into packed soil,
the stream disappeared,
playing tricks on him, that he feared,
he was never going to drink again,
in that he was sure,
so he finally gave up,
and the thirst didn’t squeeze him
as tightly as it did before,
the darkness seemed less oppressive,
as dried branches cracked beneath his feet,
he realized that winning came with defeat,
music filled the air,
what was missing was his fear,
his heart softly pounds,
amazingly, he found himself
hearing more beautiful sounds,
he thought they were toying with him
again at first,
but he no longer suffered from the thirst.
© 2011 Frank Atanacio