Poem: Beautiful Forms

Rusty warrior in desert, where are you going?

The clouds are cold and the ground not yet blazing. 

Soon a rim of darkness and twilight seeps into sand, 

like the storm of a mind dying when it meets the land. 

Sharp is your sword and fine are your shield and vest, 

and burdensome are your thoughts and shaky is your sight. 

A few more steps and you fall, gripping that dwindling light, 

Tell me, good knight, what is it that you find?

I am going to where my lord lives, 

in a palace far far away, beyond where light can touch.

On the streets of music and branches of olives, 

for the chord of eternity hidden in many I will search. 

Yet, friend in desert, what pleasure do you take, 

keeping the flood at bay and your virgin flowers till late?

I am going to the best war ever, 

until my heart feels the cold sobering of cheap iron. 

I am waging all in my vile fever, 

to dash the foul tides and chase the winds and the siren. 

Why, friend in desert, are the very beautiful forms such and so, 

and I followed it in distance, eye to eye and soul to soul?