MEN RIDING ROCKETS WITH SADDLES
Blasting across the horizon
Crossing a desert that would otherwise be impassable
One small mistake was nameless high-speed death
A death whose final moment would be undeniably glorious
But that no one would see
Only if they died on blast-off
Or if they’d nearly made it to your side
Might you see a plume of ash rising
Followed by the drifting black smoke
Forever expanding
Until it was nothing
Only the bravest had ever seen these tilted, half buried beasts
The red skeletons of the riders
Returning from the desert was hard on a person
People who venture off into the desert are not to be trusted
And if they spoke of seeing a rocket
Or a rider
They were made to be liars
No such men ever existed
No such Gods mocked the mighty desert
No comments:
Post a Comment