Ship To Wreck

The desert ships plod across the dreary splintered sands Their sinking hooves paddle wearily in the tan of dunes Shoving a daunting mist of dust That lofts to hatch a ceremony of omens The desert speaks, the desert plays its harp Every step pulls the thin fabric of survival And the dying travellers remain tensive Their yawning will to survive starves And the riders gutter down every calorie into its mouth Feeding their sinew to cling on. The herky-jerky of the saddle Irons flat their leathery palms And their grip blisters The pride of lions living in the camels' snorts Gush a din of anguish with every roar The desert speaks, the desert plays its harp The wilting souls speak an ocean tongues Yet all understand the one language of the desert The scroll is spread and its tan await ink Each camel writes its story Footstep after footstep, line after line The grains of sand are filled with memories And soon the desert storms will lay flat a fresh page To embrace the succeeding authors