so often

so often

I'm left here in the most
unsheltered, hungered state
waiting, wading in the thick,
just to reach your attentions.

We experience rows of good
like full bloom harvest things,
un/wanton and unabashed,
like heavy fall wheat to a farmland.

The good is followed
by flood/stills of the bad,
harbored hatred and darkened, bitter things,
like a monsoon season rife with hope killings.

And, then the peacetime comes
yielding some long begotten hope,
like a day of eclipsed suns and harbor moons,
and this love gone too soon.

I awaken without you here,
like a parched land,
with no water near.
with no prayer, only fear.

I wish to take leave,
my own warnings I shall not heed,
like a lie/wish to a hopeful thing,
I feed like a fledgling on
the falseness you will bring.

Jason Christopher Johnson
August 28, 2012