Tuesday, September 8, 2009


As the glare of the sun drove into his mind
As thirst and death remained all he could find
He dropped to his knees and the sand blew high
Oh help this wandering soul! said I

As he searched for strength for a final prayer
As he fought to see hope in deserted despair
He fell with a painful breath of air
Will no one help this sorrowful soul? said I

As vultures eyed a meal close at hand
A rider raced to this desolate land
Over the wanderer he came to stand
This soul will not be left to die

With water and a bed in blessed arms
Heat gave way to merciful warmth
Who are you? said the wanderer in weary alarm
Behold this rider and his wonderful smile!

Who I am, can you not tell?
Even having taken my name for yourself?
I am the answer to your cry for help
It is the Chosen One of the Lord Most High!

Arise! For you are not the first
Others too suffer from the very same thirst
We shall find them before they head for the worst
In the throes of death do many lie!

And there are those who rest by the oasis
Who’ve come to see it as lasting bliss
Soon it shall all be an empty abyss
Every drop is doomed to dry!

As the setting sun drinks up light from the sky
The witness gazes with eagle eyes
Rescued by hope she lifts and flies
For this parched earth shall spring new life!