It comes as a cloud without form but envelops me at times,
blurring my vision and at others sunlight breaks through in great clarity.
I can breath its moisture, smelling the rain before it falls.
My heart salivates for its taste. Drops moisten, rivulets form pools
and in torrents it flows. So much water but none I can drink.
It must be purified, filtered and distilled.
So much wasted, lost and consumed it returns to its source
the great salt sea of flowing evaporated ideas.
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Online) - Published: January 24th, 2026 03:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments2
Good write SB.
Thanks Orchi I appreciate your read and comment
Just when there's one right there puffff, it's gone, I always have these moments when I'm most tired or in bed, I try to think of a word that will remind me of the thoughts in the morning, but actually that doesn't work either, my muse can be a bitch but a gal has to sleep, super imagery as always. 🌹
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