roogymirror's Poems: Vol. I

Sand

Harsh, as the halls;

Rough, as the walls.

More grains than persons,

Less grains than dirt is.

What lies beneath the sand?

A deserter wanderer wonders

As he scoops in it his hands.

A heart uncensored,

A heat untempered,

The desert is a lonely home,

This wanderer is all alone.

Scorpions dance atop the ground,

as not to shift the sand and drown.

The sand conceals time,

The sand conceals it well.

A stone that they call lime

Encases caverns like a shell.

Snakes, they wind themselves around,

For they know not to tamper with the sandy ground.

The wanderer needs to drink,

For he can hardly spare energy to think.

He stumbles around like a bloody fool,

Hoping to land in an oasis pool.

The bats they hear from down below,

Noise diluted, so dull and mellow.

One last collapse, and the wanderer falls,

Through the sand and limestone walls.

The sand broke his fall, luckily for him,

And better still, water, up to his shins.

The wanderer's luck was not infinite though,

As the desert is an unforgiving foe,

Scorpions, snakes, and bats as they pleased,

Plagued the man for disturbing their peace.

Sand is rough, the desert is harsh,

This wanderer's chances were assuredly sparse,

No more to be done, no lesson to learn,

The desert has heat, yet nothing burns.