The page burns away when met by a flame.
Days where I couldn’t find an easy way to tame
My mind’s eternal hunger left me with scars.
Writing the best I could yet finding only tears
In myself transcending to the page. A story
I wanted to tell though I never knew I’d be sorry
For the words never felt right. I forced my hand
To write when my mind doubted creating sand.
Each and every grain of sand is a piece of the desert
I find myself stranded in, my own existence left inert.
A darkness sleeps under the lost pages
Listening to my heartbeat. I keep walking
In search of an oasis where the dark is not.
Fanatical creatures meet me in my travels
And in a passing glance we will drift apart.
The beauty in this plane of imagination
Gives birth to an appreciation of what I make.
Caught at the eternal crossroads of clairvoyance
I sink further into the sands to find my resonance.
Vasha'Lakar 