Parched
I remember that well
The poisoned water within
My stomach churns at the thought of its drink
It's been cleaned, or so I'm told.
I can taste its metallic memory
Involuntarily I retch
Shudder.
Can I drink blissfully again
When each glass brings suspicion of death?
Would I chose ignorance?
Is fear so unreasonable?
Shall I suffer instead my thirst?
Parched, shall I instead choose sand?
Licking the dust from my teeth whilst I watch
Ice clinking, water cold and refreshing as it's
Poured, generously, freely, without cost...
But is it a trap? A mirage?
A cruel trick?
Can you ever enjoy the cool, clear water
Once you've tasted the poisoned well?
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