I Wrung My Idols Out

Photo by Amritanshu Sikdar on Unsplash

I wrung my idols out for every drop
Scattered vessels down below
Filling buckets, bowls, and cups
Capturing each and every plop
Like rain from an old rooftop—
The endless drop, drip, drop

My heart pounds at the sound
My thirsty mouth feeling the ache
Of the drinking that never sates
Drained through the bottom of
Broken-cistern desires, never done—
The endless take, drink, take

Until intoxication finally sleeps
And we wake to our empty heaps
Of what never satisfied so we
Climb out to see that old invitation
From our King, for a holiday at sea
No longer to be so far easily pleased