My eyes keep burning

from what seems like one hundred hours

of staring into a dry wind.

That wind seems determined

to send my retinas into a drought.

It hurts to close them.

Yet it gives the tiniest relief.

I want to keep them closed 

for days at a time.

Fight back against the drought.

It feels as though the drought 

has crept its way into my mind.

When I close my parched eyes

I can see the cracks spreading through the grey.

Motivation?...Cracked.

Care?...Split.

Alertness?...Shattered.

Sleep without care of the continued goings-on 

would be like a heavy rain to my soul.

To taste the moisture of peace .

To feel the cool liquid of relief.

To dance in the downpour 

and discard those who remain still.

Obligation?...Soaked.

Worry?...Sunk.

Anxiety?...Drowned.

Wishing I could do as I pleased.

Hoping the monsoon will come.

Perhaps the wings sewn to my name

will take strength 

and I can fly to the conspiracy.

Join the constable

protecting my drizzling peace.