The Desert

There was a desert somewhere. It was flat and perfect.
every day the sun beat down and the winds stirred the sands.
One day a grisly man visited the desert in search of a gleaming chest
overflowing with riches that he could sell in order to feed his
family. The desert knew that it had no treasure to cede but it still
enjoyed the presence of the man, for the beating sun and the stirring
winds didn't make for the best company. The man rummaged in his
satchel and procured a shovel. Rusty, the man used it to dig into
the sand in hopes that he would eventually feel a clunk of iron
against wood. The man labored until sunset but found nothing.
Disappointed, the man trudged back through the sands
and faded into the mountains that guarded the horizon.
When the man left, he left the hole in the desert.
It gouged into the flat terrain like a jagged scar on an otherwise
flawless face. The 6-foot deep trench penetrated multiple layers of
sand, exposing the water that the desert held so precious.
The next day the sun beat down onto the desert like it always did.
But today its rays flooded into the hole and evaporated the
desert's water. The desert wished for the hole to be filled. But
all it could do was wait for the wind to blow the sand
into the hole like microscopic grains of hope.
But the wind blows slow.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems

Share This Poem