Waste/Safe Land

***This poem is a continuation from River Styx and Desert Red
Travelling the desert
a hundred days
I felt sand
scouring
flaying
devouring
flesh from my bones
molding
forming
another me.
Peddlar man
quiet
plodding along
but inherently
seeking oasis after oasis
as I needed rest.
he refused to answer
any
all
cajoling
questions.
Shaking his head
not in annoyance
more like a parent indulging their child.
We crested that last sandhill
my mouth fell open
a silent o
as before us
spread out
a verdant sea
tears spilling down my face.
Sept. 15/18
Photo by Robert Lukeman on Unsplash

Desert Red

***This is a continuation from the poem River Styx.***
I climb
over burnt amber sands
piled high
reminescent
of snow hills
I played on as a child.
Glaring sun
no respite
I stumble along
unsure
where I am going
what I will find at the end.
Moving one foot before the other
cracked lips
I can feel the skin on my face
blistered
charred
no agony
no pain
Is this trial by fire?
Will the sins staining my soul
finally be erased?
An oasis I seek
mirage
what I find
until finally I fall
unable to move further on.
finds me
face down
covered partly by sand.
With surprising strength
he picks me up
placing me on his wagon.
‘Rest little one.
I am the next to carry you further.’
Sept. 13/18
Photo by Mason Field on Unsplash
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