There is fear,
Lurking in the shadows.
Silently stalking its prey in place,
Unafraid of discovery by air.
With feathers floating,
Reaching out towards
The dark beast.
Earth is burned,
Life long forgotten from its land.
Grabbing up the dust,
Twisting and celebrating
What could have been used to be.
Water flows on the horizon,
Pretending to promise the wayward travelers
The long drink,
Silent sounds of expectation:
The dry rock reverberates and echoes
The ache of the vapid oasis.
Wise men cometh,
Casting stones meant for walking corpses.
Instead reaching the single mind of
Slowly, softly, sneakily, slightly.
Wearing away the walls that hold our heads so high.
Peasant boys flee the scene,
Afraid of a sense of guilt catching up.
Solace revels in the hidden places,
Where the sun cannot take its toll.
The arthitic hands of youth
Dig their early grave
And settle in,
With their expectations as carpeting;
Their dreams as counter tops.
The cold earth below,
And the quiet rock above
Serve to forget their distress,
Soothe thoughts of anxiety.
Far from the fingers of Sol,
Looks towards Apollo’s chariot,
Trading his limited windows,
For the pearlescent statues of beauty.
Though the mountains flee,
The rivers still flow.
Carrying from the clouded heavens,
Secrets for mankind.
The jester fails to see
Suffering servants buried alive.
Lofty are his goals
While limited is his time,
Through the capture of souls,
He must sketch the sublime.