Valley of Death

[Written to:  Song of Sheherazade ]

Wind whips whispering want

each step a sip of winters wailing

and springs unfortunate delay.

Sky dangerously dark above

earth languidly unaware of soles

pressed defiantly deep upon it

carry one, who,

wrapped in weary wandering,

a wisp waging war against

gods who no longer speak

and siren songs no longer singing,

walks towards the edge of possibility

seeking a thing desired yet un-obtained.

Lo, thirst for rain does not grant it

nor retching render a ransom of hunger’s despair.

Dust for tears strangle sound

to subjugate doubt with oppression and fear!

All here gnash and gape and claw

at the heart of the feet who

carry it.

What is this madness?

Who, in a seeming sea of uncelebrated hubris,

rages yet again in this, an immortal and hopeless, quest?

A reply slips free

“’tis the quest of the living

the survival of a dream.”

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