The dams of heaven,
Over this little village space,
Bursting angrily at the seams,
Overflowing its bounds,
Down in a gusty wall of rain,
Flooding every square inch of land,
While not too far from here,
And in many parts of the world,
Lands are parched and dying of thirst,
Their throats ache in the sting of prolonged dryness,
Having never drunk in ages,
Yet the unwelcome excess in this place,
Wreaking havoc yet untold,
Cannot be channeled to quench that nearby thirst,
What a paradox,
A paradox of conflicting sorts.
Brussels © February 2015 afesehngwaHilary
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