I drank of a cup, filled from waterless clouds,
and it killed what was already dry.
What had hope left was left now for dead, feeling worse
than betrayed by a knee-deep desire.
This beast without burden went, useless, along,
passing feigned grace to sunk eyes.
To these, paired, peering through hills, I cried “liar!”
but wind ate my warning, despised.
[After reading 2 Peter 2]