Session 13
A prose poem (in that it doesn't fit haiku, and doesn't ryhme)
Sand.
Sand and sun.
Sand and sun and the discomforting cries of a Lady distressed.
Sand.
Sand and sun.
Sand and sun and sorcery.
Sand and sun and a sorcerer distressed. But a Lady relieved.
And the sand goes ever on.
Sand.
Sand and sun.
Sand and sun and wind.
And wind.
And sand.
And sand.
And wind.
Wyld wynd.
Wyld synd.
And wynd.
And wyld.
And the sand goes ever on.
Sand.
Sand and sun.
Sand and sun and spice.
Sand and sun and spice and seive through shrub and stone and see the wyrm.
WYRM!
Sand and speed and spread and draw and decoy,
But the Wyrm goes ever on.
And back and warn and block and burn
And beset and bareback ride
And Rise The Sun!
And shamed, return the sand.
And spice.
Water washes over
Waves caress the skin
The Dead Satrap doest offer hospitality
Ever lost and ever found
The Sea of Mind doest caress the soul
And the spice goes ever on
