There is freedom

In never needing to hurry

As time swiftly drains

Through clamoring hands

–

There’s a clear window pane

Within that slothful dream,

A view of snow-capped hills

Above fire swept plains

Ruled by thirst  

–

There is beauty

Sold only

On our side of the rock

To the few fine royals

Who have looted its soul

–

There are only wasted days

Beyond  the walls of their city

And the swathe of revolt

Softly seething in the dark