The Desert

The vast desert he has crossed,
And somewhere along the way he got lost.
But not from walking for miles and miles;
Instead, it was the 16 years of seldom smiles.
That long ago, he was thrown into this desert world,
Into the madness, he was hurled.
Memories of that do not exist,
Realization of it, he must resist.

Soon after that he began to learn
And for more knowledge, he did yearn.
They taught him of good and bad,
Morals everyone once had.
With that they told him of God;
To shake your head to Satan and for heaven you nod.

So he believed
And was never relieved,
But remained faithful and proud,
Spoke his religion out loud.
After seven years of following the light
Something didn’t appear to be right.
Somehow he knew he wasn’t born of this land
And felt alien to walk on this sand.
Yet he continued to travel the desert of pain,
Feeling under his feet the pressure of every grain.

Although the dunes go up and down
The desert seemed to have a depressing ground.
He went on down into the depression.
Only him, the one man procession.
Thoughts turned to those of suicide
But would have taken him for a hellbound ride.

Staying alive with fear of the devil,
The sloping terrain began to level.
He then began to find out who he was inside.
Forever it could not hide.
The place he discovered was greater than this earth.
He searched his own world to unveil his mind’s birth;
That other world with no ground and no sky
Where you can’t really walk, swim, or fly.

What he found out was nothing compared to what remained.
That search, the first of many, would make him less sane.
During that time he fell,
But without need to yell
For he had fallen in love for the first time ever.
His bruised heart, love would sever.
Before it did, it felt great.
He waited too long, however, and it was too late.
That emotion passed away,
Leaving him to wait for another day.

So he went on a quest
That would promise him peace and rest.
He vowed to experience love once more,
A fruitless search which left him sore.
At last came the thought that would start the great fall-
The thought of not existing at all.

How great, he thought, it would be,
If one could be so carefree.
No more pain or sorrow,
Or waiting for tomorrow.
That thought led to something misgiving,
Realizing there was no point to living.
Regardless, he continued to walk through the desert in the same way
Until he lost his sense of purpose, and suffered for a day.

Afterwards he set forth on another mission,
One that wasn’t fully his decision;
To be as open-minded as he could be,
To open his eyes so he could see.
Everything he was taught he learned once more,
But this time without opinion, and he opened the first door.
Through all that he had gone nothing seemed to be achieved,
The long journey through the desert left him deceived.

Beaten by the sun from its great height,
The heat in his eyes produced a strange sight.
He saw a vision of beauty unlike any seen before.
It was just a mirage, though, and nothing more.
He knew it was only the sun playing tricks on his eyes
But his mind-with a mind of its own-would not realize.
He continued to see the mirage until the sun set
And the spectacle disappeared, but his mind did not forget.

Throughout the cold night remained thoughts of the beautiful illusion,
And from that he had, for the second time,
   
returned to a state of confusion.
When it was over he learned of his emotional suppression,
That he bottled up his fear, love, and depression.

He went on marching through the desert plain,
Saw an odd-looking cactus and the same one again.
There were two other identical cacti, side by side.
The fact of its impossibility could not be denied.
Another oddity was seen later that could not be so;
Seven rare cacti, all in a row.
For these coincidences, and others,
   
a supernatural entity was given blame
And he swore to find him, probably after this desert game.

As he began to search for real beauty the mirage came back.
And then uncontrollable thoughts of it began to attack.
For the vision he felt a love uncalled for,
He couldn’t take the madness anymore.
If the mirage was off to the far right
He would steer his path towards the sight.
No longer could he walk in a straight line,
Forced to go towards the image so divine.

Nevertheless, he moved towards the same horizon as before.
When he did, he opened the second door
And saw that there was no actual evil or good.
They were only everyone’s opinion of what should.
To the horizon he walked through day and night
With the knowledge that there was no real wrong or right.

Down into the sinking desert, still in search of beauty and love,
Wishing he had never seen the mirage he can’t stop thinking of.
Then came the day when he shed many a tear,
For every little thing in sight brought him fear.
No longer could he take this desert landscape,
But regardless of how he tried he could not escape.

His thinking returned to death as a way out of this existence
But his blasted conscience acted as a means of resistance.
The thoughts his conscience kept away became too strong,
It could not hold them back for that long.
God and religion was no longer part of his belief,
And for the first time in his life there was some relief.

Slowly, but not slow enough, his will to live had gone.
He was left without reason to carry on.
Beyond the horizon he saw darkness filling the day sky.
He feared that darkness, but did not know why,
Yet he unwillingly drifted toward it with dread.

To death, he cried for its merciful fate
Fantasizing about being in a nonliving state.
As he did, the mirage proceeded to appear,
Making him wonder if it would keep him here.
Much to his surprise he found the key he was looking for,
The key that would unlock the grim reaper’s door.
With a happiness he never felt before
He turned the key so he would live no more.

But luck was not with him that time,
He woke up the next day to see the sun shine.
Spiraling down into utter despair.
For anything at all, he could not care.
To the dark horizon he reluctantly traveled,
The order of his thoughts continued to be unraveled.

The entity blamed for the coincidences laughed from afar
The door to the other world was ever so slightly ajar.
Representing life was the mirage that could never be real,
Opposing the thoughts of death’s whore whom he could almost feel.
He is now merely days away from the wall of darkness
   
where the future is concealed.
What lurks in the blackness, should he live to be in it,
   
remains unrevealed.

Where love is unkind,
And now out of mind,
He walks alone,
Having written this poem.