the pool

Shattered by the blast, brutal force started the sequence of terror. What peace was held fell long ago under a tyrannical ruler while the horrified did nothing, and watched, as the country collapsed.

There is nothing to say that helps, nothing to do that makes any difference. War wounds and shock are written on every child’s face, adding 10 years to a six-year-old. We hold on, not because we must, but because there is strength for nothing else. No movement, just the stagnancy of a pool without an inlet or outlet.

But the trees drop leaves sometimes, and every so often there is a ripple. Assaulting the already heightened senses, the sun glares across the still water and gives a throbbing headache. We wait for movement. Something that speaks of life.

Quiet.
Stillness.

The stench of death still hangs in the air with nothing to alleviate. There are no flowers, no beauty to stave off starvation of the soul. Still we wait. There must be something more than the horror.

Then a rumble in the distance. The oppressive air builds in tension and the surface of the water quivers under the rough hand of the east wind. Suddenly life is broken with a glimmer of hope. Again the rumble, this time closer. The light hardens and if there were living creatures about they would be running for cover. But there aren’t any here. Just the few half death humans who struggle to the edge of the pool and look up. Desperation gouges their faces into deep lines.

Darkness settles dimly around them as the very air stops in tense anticipation. There is a quiver across the pool, leaves stir uneasily and the heaviness of an unemptied heart hovers.

it rains. deep drops crash into the trees. these half dead humans wait, hopeful in the anticipation that there will be life drawn.

waiting for green, for wild, for passion, for life, for HIM.