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.


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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