Destinations. (New) Poem by Alison Rosalie

set out thru empty desert
in the hardly hope that
those sands stretching
ever onward would end
at the edge of the ocean -

hardly slept in that sea
of scorpions and skeletons.
hardly cried; of course, i tried
but the sun would always
drink of my eyes, bone-dry
from swirling sandstorms
and the empty, shiv'ring sky

and all i could do was crawl -
straining to refrain from praying
to the withered deity of my mind.
oh how many a mirage would fool me,
each horizion shimm'ring like the ocean's crystal skin.