Rivers of creativity
That used to run
Through the vales of my head
And the crevices of my bones

Now,
Dried, evaporated, gone
Barren rifts of brain
Just begging for some attention

Like a sun without rays
And an ocean without waves
Are the rivers of my head
Incomplete, forlorn, abandoned

No sign of rain
Only light mist and misleading condensation
That tempt my vacuous streams
That long to taste heavy, wet, unforgiving raindrops

I need a storm
A downpour of ideas, a deluge of inspiration
To fill the dismal creeks
Of my thirsty head

Those rivers
The ones that used to cascade
So swiftly
Need to be filled once again

So I am waiting
For blood-curling, spine-chilling, hair-raising dark clouds
To empty dense, satisfying drops
Into the dehydrated ravines of my desiccated head