The rains skip over the dour desert,
leaving it dusty and unpolished.
The immense heat is its pestilence,
as it drives away its potential guests.
But for those daring enough to enter,
here’s what to expect:
The desert is nature’s hallucinogen.
It robs your mind of its sanity
and replaces it with thoughtless distortion.
It drains you of your strength
and unmans you within minutes.
It befools you with its mirage of hope
and laughs in your distressed face.
You wish for death’s selection,
but even death is hesitant to enter.
All you can do is lie there in misery
and wait for your final fate!
'But for those daring enough to enter'... deranged more like, given your vividly poetic description of what awaits the unwary. Only desert in Ireland is on Good Friday when all the pubs close! ! Think I'll go for a beer now after reading your work... rgds., frank.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Your poem 4 sure made me feel the heat of the desert! Amazing imagery and feeling in this one...Originality is the key to this one! I thank you for sharing and I look forward to reading more of your work...... Take care of U... =Shelley=