Flood

It starts with just a trickle,

sweet,

deceptive.

One more drop

won't make a difference

to empty pots,

parched fields,

thirsty hearts

needing sustenance

after a long drought.

Drip by innocent drip

you seduce me

with your promise.

Take me

past the shallows.

Make me

trust the current.

Without a chart to guide me,

I'll submerge

antediluvian fears.

I will be master

of these waters,

(plotting my course

across dark tides)

until the deluge

pulls me under

and I drown.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.