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I am the neophyte of a nameless god,
the follower of a strange caravan
that leaves no trace upon the sands.
I am the dreamer who seeks the source of all illusion,
the meaning of riddling runes on walls of lichen-covered
stone.
I am the traveler who once stopped to rest near the somber
tomb of some long-vanished elder god
who left his frozen tears of gold ‘neath vacant, opal
moons.
And all about me lay the shadowed ruins, piled one on one,
of other monstrous tombs,
each one prouder than the last,
and yet each foredoomed by thoughtless hands
who built from wind-shifting sand to sand.
From one dead world unto the next,
I see the emptiness of my futile quest,
yet I cannot stop; and like some mad dervish, endlessly
pursue the phantom of the thing that is myself.
I have kissed the cool, rubric lips of long-dead queens in
whose veins ran blood as cold as glacial streams.
And I have seen dungeons built of rough-hewed stone that
have outlasted dark eternity,
and have heard the never-ending screams of tortured souls
on racks of hellish fire left abandoned by indifferent
gods, long since expired.
I have heard the music ethereal, sweet and pure played by
silk-clad nymphs on lutes made of human skin;
and have seen naked dancers spiral about with the rattling
skulls of those who died to sate a pampered prince’s
whim.
Often I have seen a phantom hand beckon to me from beyond,
but only was my own that had conspired to lead me on.
Once, eons ago, wearied of my never-ending quest,
I rested on a darkened world and watched a race of titans
battle through an endless void for possession of an emerald
star-- and won, idly cast afar.
Siren calls I have heard in the deep, spatial night;
beautiful women tempting with supernal delights,
yet these were demons with eyes ablaze and claws readied to
grip and hold.
Once upon a nameless star, I beheld the statue of a
majestic being, poised as if weighed with some great
profundity, that sat and stared into the void;
and when I touched it it crumbled into dust and was no
more.
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