Walking the Reservoir

Walking the reservoir, parched and dry, beneath white hot sun in cloudless sky; through shimmering haze that sears the soul sucking all life from the water hole. Vacuum lungs cough words that sigh, arid prayers breathed to mountain’s high, emploring the heaven’s to weep and cry yet grass burns black from moisture stole, walking the reservoir. To prayers cast there is no reply, on scorching thermals vulture’s fly and crazy-paved cracks will take their toll, a life-blood drought in this dustbowl, all good intentions blaze and die walking the reservoir.