Like
the laughing wind that cast you,
You have found what you wanted
By losing your way.
So,
You are the stone prince again,
Gloating under camouflage,
Bearing feathers in your cap,
Stolen flowers from the tomb.
Decorated like an ancient vampire,
Leaking at the seams.
You tread upon hourglass shards
While draining the poet's urn.
Yes,
You are stone again.
A rising pyramid,
Made from the great and small
Of other stones, that were
Grains and glass, and then stone
again.
Yes,
You are the shrine.
Dead before your death,
For the hyena wind devours the standing
And regurgitates in the barrens,
Where fallow dunes inter each other.
-DR-
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Copyright © 2004 by Freo
