Poem: “I thirst.” By Dorothy McRae-McMahon

I thirst,
like a vulnerable seed waiting under the parched farmland earth for the rain to release me to life.

I thirst,
like the one who grieves the loss of its loves in the deathly betrayals which leech away the waters of hope.

I thirst,
like a nation longing for the generosity of its old soul as it watches its life drying up and dying in meanness.

I thirst,
like the one whose spirit flies free in truth while its body groans and weeps in the bleeding from the costliness of its fight.

I thirst,
not for the sweet easy drink of denials, not for the sour wine offered by those who would call me from my path, but for the holy water of risen life.