I prayed for rain.

Dropping to hot earth beside a wilting flower I begged the sky, while old trees snickered in the shade.

Looking at petals quivering in arid breezes, I could not decide if I should cut this little strained life short, or wait.

Sometimes the gods and goddesses are gone, the mystical constellations are asleep, and reality dances around me with a pitchfork, jabbing. Bastard, my illusions are gone.

So sorry Lily, I am no fun to play with today.