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Standing at a great desert

the Land of Alone,

the waste land of life;

surrounded by grief, despair,

pathos, blame and narcissism.

The path lies here, hard-packed.

Stumbling onto the sand, 

gasping at the heat,

each step, misery and pain;

to overcome and live.

Biding time, upon the dunes,

the sun bakes to cinders. Peace

that far away land, so distant;

across the ocean of sand.

Unable to move, so strong is fear;

the bony finger of Charon beckons. 

Cry not for the dead you see,

they wasted days; unaware

the land they sought was near;

they fell short of their goal.

Weep not for their children,

they care not for the passing

they were inept tutors, cry

for those left behind, unskilled. 

Scream for those who suffer,

others will aide their plight;

they wait for assistance.

pity the stupid, fatigued

dying in sight of their goal

Un-pious, without salvation.

Statues of civilization, crumble

and man is cast upon the sea.

Behold, destination, gleaming,

beautiful simplicity. The clarion rings,

call forth the bearers.

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