Little Hope

An illustration revealing the life of me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The noon’s heat rages bitterly,

As the fainthearted retreat to the cold shadows.

Scattered corpses lie desolate among the desert,

While large clay jugs ooze their droplets of water among the dead.

When the drops finally reach the deceased,

The dead rise, one by one - all struggling.

Everywhere, people continually claw their way to the shade,

Ignoring that one little clay pot, which freely gives life.

Traces of mortal blood and a small puddle of water only reveal

That that little clay pot broke into tiny shards of earth against human flesh.

Besides the scattered, shattered shards stands a large jug of water,

And . . . the weary souls eventually scramble their way back home-

Safely.

 

 

Author's Note

Reviews

[Victoria]

I liked how you made this so descriptive. It was wonderful!

[Coyote Poetry]

Amazing description and story in your poem.
"Everywhere, people continually claw their way to the shade,
Ignoring that one little clay pot, which freely gives life."
A lot of people don't realize. Heat can kill you very quickly. Cold weather need warm clothing. Heat need a cool place to rest. A excellent poem.
Coyote

[Jordan]

Wonderfully written! I loved it.. It had me enthralled. :)

[Albatross]

Even without the pictures, this piece felt so arid, as I believe it was supposed to. Beautifully written!

[SamBug]

I LOVED this piece!

[tinker2sweet]

love it...

[Revolutionary]

I love it.They did not see how precious that clay pot was.The sun shattered it releasing her blood.Quinching the thirst.Beautiful