Friday, September 04, 2015


Water drops in silence
The goatskin now empty
All is quiet anticipation -
Tragedy, too, has her admirers

Fear plays its cardiac drum
The intro to an awful song
Enter Thirst - screaming her song
Whose panicked notes fill desert air

Gnawing, rasping, scraping
At the throat of the walking dead man
As if trying to clamber out
And find what isn't there

The water out of sight
The Adventurer nearly out of his mind
For hours and days and weeks it seems
The nightmare never ends for him

He walks, runs, crawls on his knees
Upright Pride, too, bends to need
His back droops, his legs give in
 Hope alone carries him still

Optimism, irrational, then takes over
Showing him again those impossible dreams
Of gold and jewels and fame at last
Dreams that had brought him here

To the golden lands - to his death, to his end,
He lays down, hoping to die until
To the East he sees his final hope
Towards oasis, towards life he runs

Only to find a deceitful mirage!
Hope has betrayed him, as has his breath
As he sinks, dead, onto the bed of sand
His knees unearthing riches glorious- worthless.

Note: How I would have ended The Alchemist.

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