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Sky looks deserted,
The army of clouds retreated;
Calamitous moves!
I am today
A grain of sand
An insignificant moment
Yet it is a grain of sand
In the desert of time
Where my the wind is life
Mountains of hopes and dreams
Pits full of anger and fear
There is no forecast in this desert
No such thing as expected change
Today are mountains
Tomorrow is caves

Wherever the wind blows
Whichever way time goes
No matter how tall the mountain has become
Or where these pits come from

Walk through your desert
Moments here will never come twice
Joyful moments can only come by if you climb
If you walk through your desert

The desert of time

©SEHO | http://www.seho.site
Walk through your desert
JJ Inda 1d
Such a shifting sight death,
timid under the arid sun
-beside the marching dunes.
Here the Turks and the English fought; here only Allah wins.
"My labyrinth has no walls."
it is one of hopelessness.
Yet, there is promise of an oasis is there not?
or is it a Jinn's well?
while lies serve as accomplice,
the truth is all but forbidden.
Jinn is a demon type creature in Arabic mythology.
Madison Nov 7
On a midnight plain, these desert sands

Slip through her weeping, weathered hands.

And as every minute grain will pass

Her truths come apart like bits of glass

Everything she thinks she knows

Contorts and distorts

And slips away

When the north wind blows.

She thinks those northbound grains

Are hers to follow

And she chases them deep

Into a southbound hollow

And takes a selective handful

Only to remember

That winds bring change.

And she drops to her knees

But her northern eye sees

The winking-up caps

Of such a lovely

Mountain range.
He drives into the desert in a Toronado,
Dust in his eyes from the open window,
Sun on the burned skin and black mascara
That augments his vivid gaze.
Black orbs that stare at the burning sand,
His mouth is defiant and morose,
He turns off the path into the sage and saguaro.
The car is like a black beetle on a carpet of tan.
He lifts a shovel from the trunk, looking crazed.
Digs a shallow grave in the sand,
He rips a talisman from his neck
And declares he is looking for something
Unclear and he slurs a chant.
“Something is coming”, he seems to say.
He buries the necklace and drives away.
Will he come back for it or leave it
for the spirits of the desert?
No, he will come for it every day
Bury it again and again
Until the spell wears down,
The perfumed season is done,
Or perhaps the spring floods
Wash it all away.
Based on a silly advert for perfume, with Johnny as a superstitious rebel! I had to make a "story" of it, just for laughs.
Kristaps Oct 31
Two humps
Spurt on my back.
       A slaving,
       bone dry camel
I am
in this feverish desert of the night.
Through this ocean of
maroon sky, and
Black Sun
I crumble and crawl.  

My mammothian teeth filled mouth
aches for a droplet of what
seems is mere ether
                                     here in my
hobgoblin realm.
My thorn spiked hooves
through the colossal, monumental mountain waves.

In a thirsting,
   ******* crave,
I lay on a cold patch
and I feel,
feel my hands, I catch a breath
isn't chundered
with dust, and I doze off.

But my master and ***
   has a loathing for the
sloth, so he sends his Black
Sun to smolder my carcass
             and he strings for
Two humps
to spurt on my back.
Kapi Laur Oct 20
i've been waiting.
"what for?"
for when i don't have to answer that question.
when i won't even be able to hear that question.
when i am too far away to hear any questions.
when, one day, i get in the car.
and then i drive.
i'll just close my eyes, and pick a direction.
and i'll keep driving.
i'll only stop when i meet the setting sun, and everything has an orange glow.
i'll stare into the light, and forget your name.
i'll throw my phone into the desert, and bury my memories along with it.
i'll count the stars and change my name
i'll shave my head and burn my possessions
i'll lose myself and become a mirage
i'll paint my skin with the sunrise's pink
i'll find a million different ways to love, and ways to say '"i love you"
i'll kiss a thousand lips, without having to hear them move once
i'll be a hundred different people, a hundred different stories
i'll be in the middle of nowhere, but i'll know where i am
and you'll say
"what ever happened to her? she's just...gone?"
but i won't have to answer that question.
i won't even be able to hear that question.
PrttyBrd Oct 17
The sun beats a dead horse through a desert of lies
the only oasis is 44 ounces of pure bliss
cooling the essence from within
There is no greater comfort, no greater satisfaction

On the hottest summer day
life drains out of the chalice of joy
Its remnants still cold against my lips
burning into my being the memory of it

Empty and discarded the heat rises
Once again roaming and rummaging through the day
searching endlessly for the reality to match the memory
a world of imposters pretending they are worthy

Trying to believe that contented equals happiness
Disappointment lies empty at the bottom of the bin
Left to wander in search of that purity of bliss
For there is no greater comfort, no greater joy
nothing else comes close to the real thing ;)
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