The little prince wanders mysterious dunes
and finds the pilot with flower in hand.
The arbiter and magician inspects runes
and symbols written in the turning sands
for secrets of the end that's coming soon,
or so it's said. The camels wander lands
in search of vibrant pyramids, under moons
that give them calendars by which to plan.
But the pilgrim's hand shakes the poor spoon
as he raises it to his lips, and the grand
Sun rises above him. Wide oblivion looms
below him, but he still does not understand
its labyrinthine halls and doors, the doom
obscured by time's thinly hanging strands.
No comments:
Post a Comment