Dry

A poem

Photo by Mockup Graphics on Unsplash

I am dry, I am telling you, my friend
Dry as sticks in the desert
Ready to burn for warmth in the night

I am dry from bleeding my worry
She could have died, do you realize
I am dry as a dead tree

No leaves, no sap
Hollow on the inside
Dry as straw lying in the sun

Waiting to be gathered
I am dried out from hearing of death
In war zones, in gun-toting lands
Where the bullet is king

Dried from the news of children killed
I am dry, don’t you hear me
Women raped, men raped

War crimes, suicide, murder
Dried from pouring my love out
Like an oasis, but effect no change

I am dry I cry out to anyone who’ll hear
Dried by what humans do to humans
In war, in jail, in the system

I am dry and can be dry no more

Published in The Lark