Sandstorm
Wasteland calling, for the reckless, rash fool
From sand rises death, with thin bones bare, bleached white
Tempest screaming, one name spoken- the ghoul
To chill the soul, madness, shiver in fright
Storm rider, reaper; escape won’t come, but run
Come the next day, the body left for the sun
So fear the sand, its fall, don’t join those few,
those lost secrets, buried, or you will rue
the hour terror followed, when dread arose
Never one left, no soul, to tell of true
Turn the season, and the desert wind blows
Blind eye twisted, and a city stands, to rule
on the warm sand, spires so tall, so bright
Pride and hubris built the desert jewel
within the path, the grasp, of the hawk’s flight
And nothing’s safe, no life; it has begun
Hear the windstorm shrieking, conceit undone
Darkness descends, wailing a shadow hue,
no rain to wash the blood, just morning dew
Empty, haunted, their home- the fate they chose
They fed the beast crimson and evil grew
Turn the season, and the desert wind blows
Ruins mark the time, in stone, a past too cruel
The sand erased the pain, but sees the blight
of crushed relics, splendour lost, in the duel
of opposed wills, the war of the long night
It stands alone, exile, the path most shun
A city torn, shattered, the dark tale spun
The sand is calm, again, a tranquil view
Yet underneath, they lurk, they will pursue
Never absent, they wait, they only doze
The desert bids, enter, and start anew
Turn the season, and the desert wind blows
Refugees flee conflict, a people who’ll
face the desert, scurry to a worse plight
unknown to them; prey in the zephyr cool
as it rouses, as they watch all in sight
and feast that day on flesh, while sparing none
The sand ran red, harsh rivers to outrun
Blame given not to ghouls, but men who slew
Such is warfare, some said, under sky, blue
It is sad luck, to be bones for the crows
And went away, naive, without a clue
Turn the season, and the desert wind blows
So remember, now with hunger they drool
Don’t tempt your life, not once, they’ll take a bite
They hide, they hunt, for you, meat to fuel
their appetite- that need, they take delight
in the killing, the death; it is their fun
In their desert, their sand, you will be done
No hope, escape, just skin and entrail spew
Others ventured, and died; they thought they knew
Stay far from sand, or else the edge will close
Discount, disdain, you’ll see, you’ll get your due
Turn the season, and the desert wind blows
In wind, in sand, we bide, wait the years through
Come closer now, that’s it- more limbs to chew
Tear off the flesh from bones, nibble on toes
Straggler, nomad, the same, you are all stew
Turn the season, and the desert wind blows
© All Rights Reserved A. F. Stewart
Remember to enter our fabulous #CoffinHop giveaway HERE
Check out the rest of the Coffin Hoppers at:
CoffinHop
The Penultimate Annual Horror Event
24th Oct – 31st Oct
60 Horror Authors/Artists/Poets
8 days of Fearsome Fun
8 days of Generous giveaways/sweepstakes/contests
Terrifying tales, Petrifying Poetry, Spine-tingling stories, Freakish Flash Fiction, Heart-Racing Horror…
Join the Hop and support your favourite Horror Authors/Artists/Poets
Kintsugi Poets Society 