Where I Walk
On the sweltering sands of this hourglass
is where I walk....
My bare feet blister.
It feels as though I am walking on hot coals.
As I struggle to walk,
I see images of beautiful lakes and ponds.
The hot air, with its lies and deceit,
has fooled my brain into believing
that the crystal pools of water ahead of me
are genuine.
But soon I realize that
the only water for miles is my own perspiration.
I have no one here....
nothing....
My only company is the tiny grains of sand--
an audience of orange, white, and black.
But the wind continually picks them up
and carries them to a new world,
away from me.
Everyone here is bored with my performance.
What is it I have done?
Sadly, I explore this empty world
with my brown marble eyes,
looking for someone....
something....
I realize that I am surrounded by magnificent artwork--
beautiful mountainous sculptures
that mirror the smooth flow of the wind.
But rather than enjoying this desert's art gallery,
I instead tell myself that
these sculptures are another obstacle
that I must face
to find my way out of this lonely barren world.
I cup my hands around my mouth and plead,
"Is anyone out there?
Can anyone hear me?"
No echo.
No reply.
Copyright © Veronica Merka | Year Posted 2006
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