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I replied to a comment on a poem I posted earlier today saying that this site has "become a place that resembles a boneyard or a desert where harsh winds blow." That's not the kind of poetry site that I find encouraging. There have been several incidents that took place in the last month that I found to be mishandled by the administration, which led to the innocent being punished while the guilty were not. 
I'm finding it more difficult to wade through the sands of this desert. It feels like midnight at the oasis, and I put my camel to bed, but sometime during the night he wisely ran away. I wrote the following poem several years ago and posted it on another site. 

Rippled Waves of Desert Sands

The full moon was half risen above the Earth
shining her nightlight across cooling desert sands.
She smiled, deep in thought and a sense of mirth,
"This could've been done with my own hands."

The grand landscape resembled a barren shore.
Sepia grains being slathered by rippling waves
without a trace of footprints, boat or an oar.
This sea had no depth to serve as watery graves.

No lush oasis springs from this seaside scene
nor cool stream to quench a traveler's thirst.
This Eastern dune held no date palms of green
and seldom witnessed is rain from a cloudburst.

Here, the moon does not control ebb and flow.
These tides are guided by Mariah, the wind,
where scorpions have no fear of an undertow.
A vast sea of sand where man feels chagrinned.

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