Water Falling Dear to the Dried Heart

As I make my way through the dirt

Of the yard of the world, swallowing

Its hurt that arouses a thirst 

Born from the struggles of thankless work, 

I fall just short upon a moon

Shaped pool. Her light shining

Not too late nor too soon

That it reflects back the man

I wish I was, but thought was never possible. 

I, with my obsession with plans, 

Have been too inspired by a certain

Diabolical pride to honour the divine

Element who’s power is so strong, yet fervently denied. 

Taking the kind of any form when necessary, 

Since she’s blessed with a mythical dexterity: 

When fresh she’s as amazing

As any virile man would’ve guessed, 

When muddied, she’s brutal, 

Leaving the Innocent with damaging stings. 

But what’s left unforeseen

By many is that Truth is the platinum road

To her devotion: she’s natural

And nourishing when you’re not in the mode

Of begging for acceptance. 

I came, hurt and on my knees, 

With little hope of fulfilment

Even if I dared tried to please, 

And found a supernatural substance: 

No strange brew, more a redemptive elixir. 

Christened by her source of life

That I’d die if I was to miss her, 

As - whether we see it or not, 

Whether it’s day or night, 

Whether we ever see the light, 

She’s essential for almost all that’s beautiful.