What if . . .
the floods
never came
and
the years of plenty
was just
propaganda
perpetrated
by pharaoh
I’m standing . .
at the river’s edge
and
for miles
there’s dust
sand . . . .
falls like rain
the exodus
never happened
plagues . . .
have come
and gone
famine
has left
a bitter taste
in my mouth
my bones are arid . .
saturated with thirst
my tears run dry
to carve canyons
in my cheeks
my saliva
is as glue
that sticks
my tongue
to the roof
of my mouth
there’s no way out
of this sin
the years of plenty
have succumbed
to years of naught
there’s no way in
even from within
I'm floating . .
like moss
facedown ~
along the river's edge
grasping . .
for hollow reeds
already plucked . . !
they make paper
to tell this story
I drown again
even though . .
the floods
never came . . !
© mingoáo - 明 -
the Writings of Mingoáo Inc. is the exclusive agent, publisher-distributor of the Writings of Mingoáo. No part of the Writings exhibited herein may be copied, transcribed, reproduced nor transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, not by carrier pigeon, pony express, smoke signal, slingshot, sled dog, not even by alien spacecraft, nor stored by any information storage and/or retrieval system, past, present or future, nor translated, without the expressed written consent of the Author and Publisher. ~ Not to be Copied, Forwarded, Distributed, Shared Nor Transferred.
Jan 18, 2021
Jan 18, 2021 at 5:41 PM UTC
What if . . .
the floods
never came
and
the years of plenty
was just
propaganda
perpetrated
by pharaoh
I’m standing . .
at the river’s edge
and
for miles
there’s dust
sand . . . .
falls like rain
the exodus
never happened
plagues . . .
have come
and gone
famine
has left
a bitter taste
in my mouth
my bones are arid . .
saturated with thirst
my tears run dry
to carve canyons
in my cheeks
my saliva
is as glue
that sticks
my tongue
to the roof
of my mouth
there’s no way out
of this sin
the years of plenty
have succumbed
to years of naught
there’s no way in
even from within
I'm floating . .
like moss
facedown ~
along the river's edge
grasping . .
for hollow reeds
already plucked . . !
they make paper
to tell this story
I drown again
even though . .
the floods
never came . . !
© mingoáo - 明 -
the Writings of Mingoáo Inc. is the exclusive agent, publisher-distributor of the Writings of Mingoáo. No part of the Writings exhibited herein may be copied, transcribed, reproduced nor transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, not by carrier pigeon, pony express, smoke signal, slingshot, sled dog, not even by alien spacecraft, nor stored by any information storage and/or retrieval system, past, present or future, nor translated, without the expressed written consent of the Author and Publisher. ~ Not to be Copied, Forwarded, Distributed, Shared Nor Transferred.