Shifting Sands - a Syrian Prayer

I hope i have a pleasant death somewhere in the wilderness, perhaps clinging to a shriveled Apple, struggling to grow in the blazing sun, in a dusty field on this warming, drying planet, or maybe crushed beneath a crumbling mosque during prayers to heaven's deities appeasing all that's good and just a gust of wind their hope in us and give some comfort to this worlds most sacred, weary casualties, and leave a mark in quiet sands, that never shift with time or winds, lay etched on hearts for eternity.