Not a love poem... or a poem, I think...
Not good with poetry, and there's no way i can get myself to write Love poetry, of all things, btu i did write this.
This... says a lot. Hmm... enjoy. Or not.
The Desert Man
I see a man in the desert, his face is haggard and worn. His clothes are rags upon his body. I cannot see his face, cannot see his eyes, but I know they watch from those dark and hidden points.
His features are to me shapeless, but I feel his spirit. It shines from him, a glowing aura in the desert sun.
I can see his past, flecked with things unsung, things heralded, and things sooner forgotten. They each bear their story upon the lines of his weary face, each claiming their own throne upon his brow.
He walks slowly. The sands have long since ceased to sting his face. They are as a part of him now, rough and hot beneath the sun, as he is. A gust billows his tattered garb. About him a silence seems to follow, as if the land itself were in awe.
Though the sun beats down upon his battered form, the shadow of his face is hidden still from my eyes. Still hidden. What have those eyes seen? What may be seen in them?
He vanishes now, a wraith into the desert. Did I truly see him? Or was he only a trick of the desert? Merely a part of the sands that sought to fool my eyes. I know not. But, be he trick or not, a part of the desert he is one way or the next. Mayhaps I shall vanish into the desert some day, as he does. Will it be tomorrow? Today?
