The sand of a land:
Dry, silent, scintillating.
A thousand solemn eyes
One by one, together,
They do you too, anonymous;
Nameless and mute.

And in the gales of hate
They gobble you up!
Slowly digest you,
As your black boot sinks,
With one last sigh, it sinks.
Each step, emerges in triumph
Out of the sand-
Only to sink back in,
And for some futile cause
It will emerge in glee, again.
Again, to sink back into the sand.

The thud, of each time,
The sole touches the ground,
The soul touches the ground,
The thud, quenched and drowned
By stinging sly sand.

And as you emerged from the sand,
One day, long ago,
One day, that boot,
That black, leather boot
Will sink again deeper.
And you will return, wake up from the Revery,
Decend back to the abyss that was your birth.