I came to the desert,
to find the ghosts here
were not mine.

The streets were pure,
the sand bleached clean.

Too soon I watched
the lighthouse crumble,
as I walked a street
strewn with red feathers.

Clockwork scorpions crawled
from the baking sands,
injecting their amber poison,
to kill me.

Ghosts walk the streets now,
ghosts I know, where once
they were strangers to me.

About Fatesjoke

You can now find me and my stuff at www.fatesjoke.com
This entry was posted in Poems, Poetry, UDPS and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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