Athirst for Naught

Photo by Mike Birdy
Photo by Mike Birdy on Pexels
Alive, like flame undying flickers;
Bright of heat like friction, hope?
Yearning, yearning,
tendon, bone
from thirsty soul
that birthing wind
in labor must hold still.
Starving, starving,
let die what will
to strip what won’t
til finding naught
at last one must let go.

Published by Caelan Rowan McCuen

Poet and writer of imaginative fiction; lover of ancient wisdom literature and mythology; one most passionate about the vibrant world, and all life, and all is all I am.

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