Drought had taken the land beneath my feet; the soil was crusted and dry.
The land turned to desert, no rain ever came, not even a change in the sky.
Dull sand dunes, like ancient tombs, now stretch out as far as the eye can see,
A nomad staggers about in a daze; I look again and see that that nomad is me.
I once stopped at an oasis, its banks were so grassy and waters crystal clear,
There were palm trees aplenty, ripe dates and berries and even camels to rear.
I stayed too long, became complacent. I bred familiarity. It bred contempt.
The wonders that I once found so very fine, could me no longer even tempt.
The sweet juice of the berries turned bitter, their flesh in my mouth was ash.
I razed my home to the ground; the trees fell in the pool with a bitter splash.
I was overcome by anger, by resentment; I had been failed by my only hope;
The sameness of everything gripped me, if nothing changed how would I cope?
And now, as I stagger about alone in my insanity;
I have nothing but my dreams to keep me company.
I dream of green fields, of tall trees, the enormous boughs of which house squirrels and birds, give sanctuary.
I dream of mountains and deep valleys, of snow melting into rivulets that run gaily down to the beautiful sea.
These grey claustrophobic walls, the ashen faces around;
The rods that bar our window, the laughter with no sound.
I am driven mad by our apathy, our unwillingness to change,
How we do not question the normal, reject anything strange.
We can water the land, the dry cracked land, but for how long will we?
The water just seeps through and disappears, not leaving any mark to see.
It will bleed you dry and leave you with cracked lips and pruned skin.
Your tearless eyes, unable to see, will not even be able to take it in;
That it is your withered body, a husk of your self that is now lying on the floor,
Guilty of naught but trying to bring about change and of always wanting more.
I dream of words running up my hands and legs, across my body into my opened eyes and mind.
I dream of the voiceless speaking, of wings sprouting from my back and the backs of mankind.
I dream of music flowing across the golden skies, soothing raw ears; a balm for the wounded soul.
I dream of like-minded souls around the banquet halls in heaven with words more rich than gold.
I dream of freedom, of passion, of wisdom beyond the boundaries of age, sex and society,
Of foolish words and inanities banished, I dream of pure, powerful thought in all its clarity.
Civilisation will progress at last. We will evolve. We will move forward, and thus,
Reach high, beyond the stars into the hands of the very God that created us.