Priests and Warriors The earth, so rived with life, groans from Her bowels. I awake, uneased, Into the desert dayspring where Sand splits apart and centuries Of winded voices sift through night's Hushed desert floor and lifts to bring Its daily offering of life Unto the matin sun awing. The sunlight, mindful of its art, Caresses with its essence, soothes The air with a gentility That puzzles me. And, thus confused, I live in mortal fear of its Deceit, its violence--a thing Mistrustful, even as the light That now appears as flickering Soft fingers spreading from the sun, Caressing me, soon to become Steel rakes that tear and agonize My flesh and steal the life therefrom. ...Now, in a lake bed, I walk on. Its surface mirrors back the sky; And at a distance merges, blends, Enfolds so seamlessly that I Think: somewhere there must be a point Where things, where I must surely end; But in my view, from where I stand, That point seems infinite as wind. The shadow that has tirelessly Been leading me now fades bebind. And as dusk falls, a radiant, Deep crimson mantle intertwines The edge of my horizon; and The twilight tames unruly clouds Containing priest and warrior forms That ebb and flow, some meek, some proud. Priest arms unfold as if to bless, But then withdraw into the folds Of papal robes swept by Time's wind Ere penitents may bare their souls. The desert warriors, weapons drawn And with contempt upon each face, Come galloping through roiling clouds, Fade in thin air without a trace. ...The desert is at rest at last, At peace, or so it seems to me; But maybe its the time of day That's having this effect on me. Beyond, above its distant edge, The tattered remnant of eve's light Begins to fade and colors change From orange to an azurite- Like blue, then even darker blue-- A blue-black heradling the night. And were I not recalcitrant, I'd let these colors of half-light Caress me into reaching some Long unfamiliar form of peace; But, as it is, I'm too afraid Of the approaching night's unease. My course ,I thought, was logical, But now I can no longer tell. This cactus looks the same as when I climbed upon this carousel. If I look back will I become A crumbling pillar formed of sand? Why not, I think... what lies ahead?: Flesh turned to dust for winds' command. I dare not, won't, look back when I Am not supposed to, even though According to new wisdom it's No longer true to form, you know. (C) 4-23-96 Charles SielertBirth sign: Not entered
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