If I were a fisherman.

Forty days, forty nights, would no longer be pretend.

I could cast my line into a moldy moat.

If I were a fisherman.

I would no longer need a boat.

If I were the rain.

My flesh turning toward water.

My blood thinned by the clouds above.

My tears rearing…the green grass below.

To a life filled with drought.

I would be liquid gold.

If I were the rain.

I would be the only reason for many a season.

If I were a picture.

Worth at least, a hundred words.

I would photograph, all that is foreign and absurd.

I would camouflage all the earth’s treason.

Exposing the hue and contrast of desperation’s sun.

If I were to walk on water.

I would not need worry about the weather.

Encompassing all that is gathering and harsh.

After the ark, I would satiate all that is parched.

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s