Deserta Sapiens: Viae Incognita

I once awoke in a desolate land,

Surrounded by nothing but endless sand.

My cheeks ached from the searing heat,

My body throbbed, refusing retreat

My eyes wondered to the depths of the horizons,

Searching for a presence, a thought or an essence.

With none in sight, I lowered my eyes.

And drank the quiet, the lonely cries.

With enough time gone, my body attempted to walk,

Out of the desert, in search of a presence

The burning sand did not grieve nor care,

But drank my anger and left me on a pyr.

With jerking limbs and faltering fire,

I found a cloud, a fainting spire.

Its days were numbered, drifting dim,

But fate, it seemed, had plans for him.

The cloud soon spread across the sky,

Its wings stretched wide from eye to eye.

With a thunderous voice and resentful eyes,

It declared its presence to the dead and alive.

It raged and raged and cared not for I.

Who knew it when it was about to die.

With nothing left to turn me to,

I held my soul and fought it through.

The storm left marks beneath my skin,

It cracked the vows I held within.

It raged and raged without end,

And left in its wake a mirrored land.

The burning ground now turned clear,

The scorched earth shed its pain and fear.

I stretched my hand to what seemed unreal,

And found a cool surface that breathed out zeal—

An air of solace, soft and still,

That soothed the ache, subdued the will.

The mirror shimmered, wide and deep,

A place where broken voices sleep.

It showed no flame, nor storm, nor sky,

But held my gaze and would not lie.

I saw myself—both less and more,

A soul reshaped by desert lore.

The pain had carved what time could not,

The self forgotten, now rethought.

I sat quietly alone upon the mirrored land,

A zilliant voice subdued, yet grand.

Now the world had quieted and stared at I,

Curious to see what came next—and why.

Its breath held still, the air turned thin,

Awaiting the stir of change within.

No storm, no fire, no need to run—

Just silence, gleaming like the sun.

I breathed, at last, without the weight,

Of sorrow’s grip or driven fate.

The mirrored earth beneath my palm

Spoke not with sound, but whispered calm.

And in that stillness, I became

No longer bound by fear or flame—

But something new, both soft and wide,

A presence time could not divide.

And then from a distance, I heard a voice,

A hush that swelled into sacred noise.

It bloomed, it widened—a gathering song,

A chorus where quiet and dream belong.

Then the sky became a blushing girl,

Veiled in rose and lavender swirl.

And flamingoes, in silk and flame,

Descended slow, like whispered names.

Their graceful fall, their radiant flight,

Turned dust to pearls in morning light.

Their elegant presence, serene and wise,

Caught me whole with watching eyes.

They fell into rhythm, smooth and slow,

Performing their quiet duty below.

With elegance born of ancient grace,

They moved through time, they shaped the space.

And lost was I to their conscious calm,

As they busied themselves with feather and psalm—

Preparing nests for fledglings near,

With acts so small, yet crystal clear.

I watched with wonder, a quiet sadness,

A hush within, a stirring madness.

I watched with curiosity, a quiet question,

As if their flight held some confession.

The mirrored land had brought them here

To reflect and welcome those who draw near,

To say farewell to past endeavors,

And greet the rise of future bearers.

I sat quietly, cross-legged and low,

Careful not to startle the newborn glow.

I watched as time breathed through their song—

Welcoming life, then letting it go along.

I watched as they wept their silent goodbyes,

Under pale clouds and tender skies.

And out they flew from what they’d made,

Leaving the new to find their way.

With the water now gone,

The land stood clawed—

Its blistered skin began to yawn.

It ached once more, bereft of calm,

And flared anew, without a balm.

The blaze rose up, a wailing flame,

That startled the young and called no name.

It scorched the air, it cracked the skies,

It burned the fear into their eyes.

So now came the time—

To rise, to strive.

The children fled with purpose and plan,

Their wings held firm by some unseen hand.

They followed a path, hidden from me,

Yet marked by grace, impossibly free.

I trailed behind, with hope in sway—

Perhaps they'd come to show the way.

Perhaps this was fate, sent down for I,

To chase the flight, not ask the why.

To trust in flame, in wind, in sky—

And let the soul, at last, reply.

The children ran across dunes and ledges,

Not stopping once at the desert’s edges.

They left behind the slow, the small—

The ones too weak to heed the call.

Yet curious was I to see what they'd become,

To know the shape of what they'd run from.

So I bent and lifted, one by one,

Each trembling form beneath the sun.

I held them close against my chest,

Their breath a flutter, their hearts at rest.

And onward still, I followed the led—

With hope ahead, and care instead.

The sand, unforgiving,

The sun, ever blazing,

The path ahead—a dreadful maze.

Yet one that's clear, with no twists or turns,

For the true maze lies within the heart that yearns.

After hours, days, weeks, and years,

We seemed to arrive, though unclear,

At what once seemed a distant end—

A place where light and shadows blend.

The flamingoes, now the size of their ancestors,

Gleeful, laughed and rejoiced without care.

Curious was I to see where they'd go,

So I set the weak down and bid them farewell.

Soon they too forgot of I,

The one who’d carried them beneath the sky,

And rejoined their joyful, soaring mass,

As I remained, watching their freedom pass.

I felt no ill,

Not then, nor ever—

But a serene calmness,

A quiet content, forever.

I wondered if this was what destiny willed—

A confusing path that led me here,

Had I walked the way I was meant to go,

Or was it fate that pulled me below?

I quietly sat upon this foreign land,

Shedding doubt and fear from trembling hands.

Was this the fruit of labored strife—

A quiet grave? Or a peaceful life?

The land stretched wide, its whispers deep,

A question echoed, soft and steep.

What had I sought? What had I earned?

Why had the flamingoes led me here?

Why had I followed them to this place?

Yet none of these questions caused distress,

As I laid back, and embraced the rest.

I accepted this land, as it had come—

A quiet peace, my soul undone.