The flood came
after a drought,
washing away the dry,
but its rush only
liquefied what had
died.
Inside, this sudden
overtaking is
devestating. I’ve
tried to find the
higher ground, but
I’m caught in the flow
of mediocrity.
I can’t keep up with
the tsunami created,
and my mind
is still feeling
desolated. I made it
above what was below,
but my words just
erase away with
the waves portrayed.
The flood erodes
brain matter as
brain patterns don’t
know where to go.
The brown and
the gold fold into
a mud laden soul.
I can’t breathe
underwater, this
sudden rise. I can’t
see in the depths of
this overburdened
demise. My eyes
fall shut as the drown
becomes my place.
I can’t swim as my
limbs are anchored
in this space. A
quicksand creates
the immediate burial,
goodbye.
I’ve succumbed to
the flood completely,
no room for my cries.
I’ve died in these
answered prayers.
d.
…
Photo: Image Stock
What stayed with me most was the final image: dying inside your own answered prayers. Sometimes we spend so long wishing for something to arrive that we forget to ask whether we’ll be able to hold it when it does. Even what saves us from the drought, if it comes all at once, can become a flood.
“I’ve died in these answered prayers.” That ending stopped me. There’s so much in those few words. Thank you for writing this, Damien🫶