James Roumbanis

A landscape barren
Windswept supporting
No life to speak of.
Desolate.
Alone.
A shimmer in the distance
Life.
Hidden in a dune
Surrounded by greenery
Lifeblood.
Elixer.

Hundreds
Thousands of unheard
Pleas fall on deaf
Ears hear nothing
Desolate finality
With a spattering
Of unkept hope.

As far as the eye
Can see repeated
To my senses
By my traitorous
Mind. Sand.
It’s gone now
The whisper of my
Own personal
Traitor.
Replaced by rasping
Undertones of
Insanity.

This seems unfamiliar
What is this
Spattering of
Moisture falling on
My burning skin.
I remember now
This is life.
This is what it is to love.
Yes my dear
I am coming ever faster
To your open arms.

All the small
Comforts are as
Strange to me
As these the plains
I walk unblinkingly.

Gone.
Desolate.
Final.
But still alive.
Always alive.
At least I
Have that.
Strange, these feelings.

Yes dear, I hear
You calling my name
I’ll be in for
That late dinner in

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