Thirst
You stand before me,
(Or rather, I stand before you)
My tired soul yearns
For you to enter my realm of
Taste and smell, for you to refresh,
To replenish, to please; for you to
Provide the energy, and send,
Pulsating, a wave of ultimate
Strength to my weak and pathetic receiver.
As you approach my parched lips,
You send me hints of your wonders
That are soon to come;
I see and feel your fizz, your buzz.
The smell moves to enter;
It tickles my senses, my fancy,
I succumb, surrender my will.
Nearer still it comes, drives.
I come to think of past experiences
Where as a child relief was found
When lips were wet; dry not could be
Hate of the dry, love of the wet,
A raging river flowing down my waiting throat
Could not be valued more.
In my ship I travel the seas
And send myself down the river
Into the bubbling stream, where life is found
Where happiness thrives,
Where I am free.
I am free, I think, as I
Sit there with the drink to soon enter.
But also, I think that I have matured,
Aged, grown stronger,
More adapted to living with the thirst,
Without relief, satisfaction,
I was taught well; I was taught by the best.
I do not surely need refreshment now,
Do I really ever need it?
When, and in a new circumstance, I may
Send to aquire the drink in myself,
But for the moment, I need not taste,
Drink, consume.
I put the drink down.