Thirst

Weak and wilted in its posthumid slouch,
An herb emaciated waits for the cool dusk.
It rests unaided on that hard clay couch,
Under a Sun unsatiated; evermore an empty husk.
Green going to brown; bleeding vapor, transpire.
Dusk's crimson frown; fleeing stupor, expire.

Once a winding vein of fluid flowing clear,
A riverbed rendered now a cobblestone road
Trickles silent and slow, the former's tear;
Which stings and burns under a flaming goad.
A stagnant pool reflects the ruddy horizon,
For the Sun drinks all but the poison.

Waiting in slumber strong by day and night,
A desert dreams of jungle-life long past
Abdicated unto the Orb for an unsaid slight,
Damned to the dearth of an age-long fast.
Whipped and mauled by a million noons,
Aqueous rebellion swells within comatose dunes.

Water's lost caress teases Earth's chapped lips,
As the Sun above trails clouds; opium smoke.
Cracks close as showers grant forbidden sips,
To reopen under the torn shrouds; oppressive joke.
The ocean cannot soothe a land so accursed,
For she alone shares true the solar thirst.

• On Saturday, February 22, 2003, liquid_emotion (391) wrote:
  
  On one hand I really liked it... on the other, I almost got lost in your expansive lexicon and jumbled imagery... very original