by Ryan Nardi
I forage in the desert,
a wizard in a land of skeleton men.
My companion sleeps in the tent.
Thirsty for truth
I discard the stones and empty shells
upon which the zombies feed.
I take up the cactus frond
squeezing it as thorns pierce my hands.
Its hidden droplet falls into the sand.
Instead, I lap the blood from my hands,
and, drunk on blood,
I retire to the tent to sleep.
There will be another day for truth,
I hope, as I kiss my companion's head.
And, drunk, I do hope.
Posted on 09/13/2012
Copyright © 2022 Ryan Nardi
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by George Hoerner on 09/13/12 at 06:35 PM|
There is always enough time for truth. We just don't always seem to see it and science itself doesn't always give the correct answer. There are so many unknowns and the mind is one of the largest.