Friday, January 7, 2011

My cup over flows

In the blaze of th desert i hold my cup. A mirage in the distance, hints of shade and rest. I watch them pass, not a glance do they raise. For my fountain drips, not a gush to be seen. Just the regular drip.

I watch them sneer, at the dents in my cup, the cracks on my lips, and the lines on my face. But only for a fleeting moment. For they all opt for the trees shimmering in the distance.
Still i hold my cup, dents rust and all, on the outside. Still i stay beside my fountain and wait. The drip my constant companion. The missing bricks a reminder of the storm and hail.
I hold my vigil, waiting. For one shall come, and realize, my cup may be worn but it's ever full, of crystal clear refreshment. My face may be lined but my eyes are calm. For i am the keeper of the fountain.
I know of the faces that passed. I heard the moans in the wind, of hopelessness and despair when the mirage disappears leaving just swirling sand in its place.
They spoke of the one, voice like the sea, breath like the breeze. Who shall drink from the cup and once more the fountain shall flow. For i am the keeper of the fountain, and i know how deep it goes. Once more it shall overflow, and the sand will give growth and life shall flow.

No comments:

Post a Comment