#CoffinHop – 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

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