Crows and Locusts

'It was the year
The crows and the locusts came
The fields drained dry the rain
The fields are bleeding'- Brooke Fraser, Crows+Locusts

God have mercy. Inside, I'm a crazed woman and you've seen it all. Bring the bells, the holy water and the holy book. Plead the blood,
over me, something needs to be chased away, and fast - because I'm sinking.

I'm night, night that never ends; no joy cometh in the morning.
And Joy. That's a forgotten song, remnants of its tune still lingers on my tongue
but I forgot the words, I forgot them all.

I'm falling
empty and barren is the land; dusty and dry. Nothing of worth grows from it: I do nothing to water it
so this is the year maybe.
The only thing that flows, fall from my eyes as I pray for mercy over and over again
and always, the still, small voice saying 'patience'.
This is the year.

I need free,
I need to scream, tear something apart.
I need you. I tell you all the time.
Come calm the waters, please, bring the peace
pass all of my understandings
I need nothing- I need numb
I need nothing. I want for nothing.

And slowly,
outside my window I watch the villagers gather, candles in hands, heads bowed, tears flowing as easily as the river Nile as they chant,

"what can wash away my sin,
nothing but the blood...,
what can make me whole again,
nothing but the blood...."


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