“Patron Saints of Endless Wonder”

I sift through the days like a miner seeking gold
Much can be found in a river overrun with treasures
In the nighttime the owls wait like patron saints
Dining on an evening of endless wonders
Victims in the night
All but stolen from their home
Wanderers in their right
Prey they do not roam
And the clouds then parted, giving birth to a new day
Then the sky burst open and the rain did fall
Hard upon a cracked and deeply scored earth
What grows in the desert is thrown back in the hearth
Then the clay becomes a man
And the man became stone
Hardened by life’s unspeakable horrors
I let the darkness creep in
You encompassed me with light
I let the darkness win
You blinded me with light
Then the land fell silent and the night became calm
And the harrowed plains extended like a beggaring arm
Outstretched and winding
Dipping and turning
So dry and depraved
Neglected and yearning
I heard the desert speak in riddles and the winds whisper tales
I saw the sun bake the miles and the heat rise like sails
I felt the sting of the sand sift between my open fingers
I smelt the red blooms blossom and tasted fruit that they bore
But when the flora and fauna started falling down rotten
Their essence lingered on
And their presence unforgotten
Victims of a nighttime of endless wonders
It starts again anew as the old lie down to wither
When their spirits soar above, the rest will go under
And the desert grows cold as the patron saints shiver

— David Allen

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