Bliss of the Withered Sands

Bliss of the withered sand

Amidst the withered sand, I walk

My tongue, long been dry as chalk.

A figure, cloaked in black on my heel,

An endless horizon ahead, I do feel.

In these withered sands of fear and pain

A sense of belongingness I now gain.

For what is life without trial?

Death without hope?

A land of fools ripe with guile.

A husk, fallen far down a slippery slope.

To void one is to lose the other;

to hold both is to be torn asunder.

At the end of my day, I shall hear its call;

a final beckon before my fall.

In this cursed land, my life's been spent

but in the end, I am content.