Not Water But Rest

you see i have always wondered 

whatever makes the gold of flames so insatiably hungry for the wild gushes of

fresh air. it’s dark smoke grasping like a wild dog for the breath in my lungs.

 

i’ve wondered, why it’s dashing red still appeals to the maimed senses of this

lost human-kind. you see i find it hard to believe that i could receive mercy in

my darkness, i was blind.

 

the flames so thirsty for my barely sane mind.

in my drought i needed not water but rest. 

comfort in the bosom of the one that i knew but never truly, searching for a

plate of warmth in the very flames that burned me fully. stood on the sideline

a minute too long, screamed at my lifeline in an undeniable lack of strength  

 

this darkness… this darkness. all too resembling the blackness of my skin.

i’ve wondered if counting sheep ever helped a single soul. 

because mountains high, i’ve stood in the shoes of sisyphus. countless hours

rolling stones and valleys low, i once i laid with the serpent on his chest, but in

my drought i found that i needed not water but rest.

will they know that I tried my best?

will they know that I pleaded, shortly before my arrest?

and i found that i needed not water, but rest. and so we rest 

 

i still wonder what it would be like if i hadn’t given my best 

i wonder if i will ever find rest. because i found that i needed not water, not

water … no but rest.