Dried Up River Beds

Grappling with permanence

A stirring

An echo

A passion

A thought

Frustration boils over as reason seems to walk out the door 

Clutch in hand

See ya later

Not the creator

But the product

Of what I saw

When hiding under tables

Overturned buildings 

Looking for love

Finding Jerusalem’s crickets

With their ungodly looks

That matched my own

We would be freaks together

Out in the cold

Huddled under blankets

Little white dogs

Big fluffy coats

Snow falling on cracked

Frozen dirt

I’d never go back to 

A place that is so much my own

But I would lie in an empty river bed

To remind myself 

Of the pain

You were there

But we still haven’t met

I made you up

On the lines 

Of blank pages 

That were closer to my heart than home

God wouldn’t put thoughts in our heads

If they’d simply torture us with what could have been

But this land isn’t ruled by peace

My only nightmare 

Is never seeing your face

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