Return to My Rose

Lying in this barren wasteland
I watch the clouds float past
unable to move even an arm
to shield my eyes from the blinding sun.

The clouds tread past as if a funeral procession
a bizarre circus train
of two headed elephants
and babies on horseback,
they mutate before my very eyes
and I wonder if it is them
or if it is me.

My tongue is no longer recognizable to my mouth
but a piece of wood
dry and heavy
scraping against my teeth.

I have become
a part of the desert landscape.

The circus train glides in front of the sun
giving me a moment of mercy
as they stare down at me
judging,
then deciding to persecute
they release the sun
to punish me with its blinding rays.

The desert sands have already leached
every bit of moisture from my body.

The circus train moves on
having paid its last respects
leaving me utterly alone
staring into the blue above.

Not even the buzzards
have come to keep me company
and I realize no prince will come
to guide me to the nearest well.

He has returned to his rose
and I am here,
alone,
but I am not afraid.

I too will return to my rose.

© Michele Markley 2009