Nomad by Stephen Jarrell Williams

They run you down
Grinding your hoofs into stumps
Popping your camel humps

No oasis to hide within
Sipping cool water from a maiden’s hands
Now a skeleton buried in the sand

Every sand dune shaking from oncoming tanks
Bombs falling from sneaky stars
The moon a mirror of where you dig

Sniffing the itch and suspecting the worse
Stuck in your skinny hole for the night
Saying prayers and waiting for one drop of honey.

the-underground-gang-by-stephen-jarrell-williams

Not so long ago, Stephen Jarrell Williams was called by some, the Great Poet of Doom… Now, he writes at night, enthused, and waiting for the Coming Good Dawn.

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