Worn

Barren earth where nothing grows,

Till the soil with hoe and plow.

Still no change appears over all the long, wide acres;

The hard, parched earth will nothing yield

Though coaxed and flattered and cajoled.

Set gaze to roam across the land,

And scout hill and meadow and field,

The wells are dry for lack of rain.

And though you try to dig it out,

Water is scarce in this relentless drought.

Fruit my fertile mind no longer bears

In honour of the farmer’s diligent work

Or in payment for his tireless years.

Now only fizzled out neurons

Are left to light the dark.

The tension and tiresome dither

Have proved treacherous to the tree

Which stands alone and withered.

Hands were held aloft to take,

And never did put back

A word of thanks or pretense of aid.

No fertilizer was ever laid

To enrich the giver,

Nor water applied to thirsty root,

Or sprayed on leaf or flower.

In this time of dearth

When there is neither death nor birth,

I watch in silence for a drop-

A sign to bring this to a stop.

Still no answer comes from cloudless vault;

No pearl of dew to soothe xerotic spirit

Lost in agonizing, pining guilt and fault.

So I lie down and cease to resist,

A listless pawn of fate

Letting dreary days drag on

Whilst others fight

And I am worn.