The flood

The flood finally came,
To this wasteland of a town,
But somehow we are not drowned.
We simply stuck out our tongues
And drank.
Even the angry old man
With the winkles on his forehead
Like a map of where he’s been
Came out of his home
To see the water,
And mustered a smile.
The children asked him,
“Why’ve you been so cynical all these years?”
He replied
“I’ve been up, I’ve been down,
I picked up the sharp broken pieces of
 My heart
 In
 My bare hands,
And glued it back together again.
I’ve smiled so much that my face wrinkled,
I’ve cried so much my eyes sag.
All for the
Possibility
That it would rain again.”
Slowly,
The oceans re-filled
The rivers started to flow.
I hadn’t seen a flower in years
But a tulip started to grow.
Some say it was our pure hope
That brought the water back.
Others think it was god.
But I think it’s simply a reward
For waiting
And fighting
And living through the pain of thirst.
Because we, we fought for that water
For that sound:
Drip
Drop
Drip
Drop.