Wandering in the wastes,
the horizon is waving, nothing is clear.
No longer able to see the path,
I navigate only by feel.
The air is iron, red with rust,
and heavy in my lungs.
The soil is hot, and long-forlorn;
the rains refuse to come.
I tell myself my journey’s end
lies just ahead, though I do not know.
Cracks in the parched earth mirror my will,
but while it’s whole I will not slow.
Each night I dream of simpler times;
I thought I knew where this road would lead.
But do I really want to return
to an oasis of false certainty?
Life is not simple, nor is it fair.
All one can do is hope and trust
that though there is hardship along the way,
the rains will return to settle the dust.

Just decided to mess around a little, and ended up writing this. I like the repeated “r” sounds in a lot of the phrases. The form is kind of cliche for me: conflict followed by an optimistic closing statement. I’ll have to switch it up next time, but since this was just for practice/fun I don’t mind posting it. Anyway, I’m really tired, so goodnight.