In a barren desert,
I stand alone.
The vulgar winds
tarnish the ear
with their coarse tones.
A restrained sound –
that of some voice;
if I want to escape
this wretched earth
I’m now left with a choice.
A man approaches
wearing an expensive suite;
he offers me a drink,
thirsty and desperate,
I grab at his loot.
The glass is full,
opposite this land;
as I lift it to my mouth,
it tips and outward pours
the surrounding sands.
Angry, I cast
the cup at the man!
he laughs and smiles
thinking he’s gathered
me in the palm of his hand.
Far away I sense
another to come,
and in tattered rags
You approach us –
the man begins to run.
I still thirst, yet
You offer me not one sip,
just an outward reach,
and my hand to Yours
begins its tight grip.
Why do I no longer
yearn for that brew?
It’s like Your presence
satiated the dryness
that in me once grew.
Will that man again return
and try to tempt me?
Will You be in the distance
making the evil
from me flee?
Yes, he will come,
luring you once more,
but you must remember
what I now tell you
to fight the continuing abhor.
One will always thirst
surrounded by barren lands –
quenched not by some glass,
no, commend your needs
into My living hands.
He feeds on your desperation
for immediate remorse,
but your wanting desires
will never cease in the
efforts of his force.
Just wait and look
in the distance - a sight
not with filled cup or new suit,
just an old pierced hand
given to you outright.
The cup that I offer
is not easy to take part,
but it will always promise
to satiate the parched
thirst in your heart.