Unquenched Scrubland

How prompt we are to satisfy the hunger and thirst of our bodies; how slow to satisfy the hunger and thirst of our souls! - Thoreau

beyond thirst

arid sand runs through collapsing veins

cactus glochids stabbing

a nuclear sun scorching flesh

microwaving a soul on a glass turntable

as flocking vultures pick at the bones

not even enough breath to harness desperate moans

hyenas jeer at the dying spectacle

quickly

someone please get me out of here, take me home

i know, i should have brought another canteen

to weak to even scream

some things are better left unseen

lamenting the parched mirage of life's spent dream

Author's Note

"A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind. There is no play in them, for this comes after work. But it is a characteristic of wisdom not to do desperate things." - Thoreau

Reviews

[Mariej]

A very grim picture painted for the reader in this very insightful and visual poem. On reading, I was reminded of the old western movies growing up where the skull or a carcass was pure white against the arid soil or in the desert sand and vultures flocked down to dine on anything which had died and pick the bones as clean as a new pin. You very poetically describe what it is like to die of thirst in these sad circumstances. A very gripping write, powerfully inked and depicted! Thank you for sharing, Pete...

[Pete]

so kind you are. thank you much for sharing thoughts and for "getting it".

[Mariej]

Always most welcome, dear poet and thank you again for sharing...