Wounded Earth

Dry, hot, so very dry...
A shadow of falling dust
hovers for hours,
settles on the cracked ground.
Who can remember the sound of rain?

It is years since we tasted water.
So dry, so dusty, so empty...
even our dreams become sand.
Cool, sweet, flowing...
even the words are fading memories.

What is this place?
God... why did you make it?
Are we only your toys?
Or like rats in a maze?
Will you... will you never speak?

High in a colorless sky,
a circling buzzard starts to fall.
Holding an empty pot,
I watch it drop, for hours.
Only ash reaches the earth.

No flower ever blooms here,
no children walk the streets.
We are the children,
the children of twilight,
and we walk into shadow.

Was this the gentle earth,
and those the happy valleys?
Oh, bring back the gentle earth!
Oh, show us loving kindness!
Our cheeks are damp with tears.

Or open the heaven with cloud
and lightning,
bless us with the gathering storm.
Lift us from this phantom world,
and show us the good earth.

Or give us courage
to dream again.
Let us remember the sound of rain.
Is this a prayer?
God, but heal this cracked ground...