When the Water Runs Dry

 

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When the Water Runs Dry...

As I sit and stare out at the vast sea ahead,

perplexity strikes in my head. 

So, I ask it, "What should I consider you to be? a murderer or a romancer?"

 

It responds, "If you're looking for a black or white, I can't give you an answer,

I give replenishment gracefully than a dancer. 

The greyish area is where I lie, I work only as a freelancer."

 

I respond, "Your hue is fickle. this is what I can't understand. You make young kids giggle but devour bodies like you're an innocent ripple. When I think of happy blue, I think of you, but there's another mood to you that I don't find true. It's not elating but hating when others feel down and gated. I guess when it comes to you, there's never any clue.

 

It responds, "I'm not a green light shining on the brown grass, the sun is my pass. 

Don't look at me as a perpetrator, I was created by my creator.

For many years, men used me to cruise, explorers wanted to peruse, and environmentalists wanted to reuse.

I didn't sink the Titanic; I didn't call for natural disasters in the Atlantic."

 

I respond, "I'm drawn by your spell, which you would say 'allure' 

but I can't help but think how you think separation can be so pure? 

A broken heart buried deeply in sub-zero temperature, 

Could never again see hope as a mere pleasure."

 

It responds, "That's enough! No more blaming me,

If you studied your history, you would find my victory. In my savior's days, spiritual cleaning was divinity. Don't forget about the captives who decided to die on their terms than to face humility.

Yes, many did not have choices, with so many excessive forces, but my waves paid in full the serenity of their voices.

 

After hearing the sea make a liar out of me, I couldn't help but to close my eyes and listen to its energy. What I thought was an enemy, was just an ugly side of my enmity. 

How can I pass judgment on my father's creation?

Through his will...through his work...there's a common relation. 

The syncopation of my heart clashes with the rushing waters,

Coming to the shores, like sons coming home to fathers. 

It comes a time when everything must die,

It comes a time when water runs dry.

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