Parched for a Sign

And I stand electrified before the gods,

and the fact of my impermanence itself leeching all of my life

out of me, to seep out slow, like honey from my bones,

and from my lips I can draw and taste the very blood that defines me.

But Kingdoms were constructed not to pass,

for their inhabitants could not

resist the rain,

the winter’s sleep, nor

the famished hunger of the waves.

Lord, I am parched for a sign,

but damned to Hell if it is not our lot

to invent you instead.


UKC; Halifax