Crossing the Desert
— Tommy Teoli —
Drunk in a deluge of dry heat, I descend. My feet sweep tufts of dust from the arid floor. The torrid sun sucks the saliva from my tongue like an ethereal leech. All the land screams thirst. I am sun-stained in the land of sterility.
Moisture? A memory. Liquid? An illusion. The daylight devours my flesh until my skin becomes as cracked and dry as the land that surrounds me. I wade through a sea of suffering on the borderland of death.
Barrenness haunts these hills like a bad memory. The sand dunes sink and slope in search of rest, but find none. The land thirsts for a cure from this curse, but the empty sky only taunts with the illusion of an endless sea.
The heat scalds my face like an angry stare; its wraith-like ridges coil and ripple against the horizon. Salt-tinged shades of beige assault my eyes. The all-enshrouding waste numbs the hope from my heart.
But faith is the substance of what I hope for, the evidence of what I cannot see. I know there is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, and I have a well of life bubbling up on the inside of me. I am a tree planted by the water; my leaf does not wither. When I journey through desert and drought, my deep roots drink from an unseen aqueduct far beyond the reach of circumstance or season.
This is why I am here. I am the well through whom rivers of everlasting water will stream life and salvation to death and desolation.