W-I-L-D-E-R-N-E-S-S!

The wind here is wild yet the trees are still
I scurry trying to reach the surface
This place is flat yet it is a steep hill

This old mirror has forgotten my face
Little wonder the long look and the wry
Storms have erased my route leaving no trace

It’s a desert here, you can only try
All conceptions will end up in stale births
In the midst of our own prayers we fry

This place is pregnant with too many myths
In spite their size we can’t fly on their wings
Washed and cleaned but dirt is all it unearths

This is where the rusty swing never swings
Where every instrument loses its strings.

Tee2emm