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poetry by lou sid linesman - on life, love & politics
Friday, August 04, 2006
Natural
Where are your pretty little flowers?
The ones you water by the bucketful...
Compelled by nature...
Your nature...
The ones for which you daily drain down the reservoir...
Thoughtlessly...
Carelessly...
Regardless of the One who should drink there
The One who fears to remember the clearest drink of all
Who admits no thirst
So creates thirst...
Where there is no spring
But you...are also a flower...
Standing tall...
And lovely...
How can you even shed a tear...
Without drinking...
First...
You’ve borne that water...
Far...
To the fields...
Of strangers...
Where the earth is...
Dry...
Where they seek...
No...
Water...
So...
Why not call those precious little things...
To your own...
Garden...
Where One same draught...
Can nurture...
All...
Because...
In the end...
They must learn...
To find...
Their own...
Streamland...
Didn’t you?
© Lou Sid Linesman, 2006. All Rights Reserved.
