am i not your saviour?
or another cast to stone
cast upon the bleakness
of another raging sky

burrowed in the meadows
lost in seas of green
each single blade of sharpened grass
caressing over me

your thunder casts an echo
returned again with light
a struggle for the water
upon our mouths so dry

and every breath is painful
counted and assumed
a subtle strike of violence
against an aching back

laid trapped between the hillside
of barren, empty land
for once i saw a purity
rested in your hand