I’ve lived to bury my desires
and see my dreams corrode with rust
now all that’s left are fruitless fires
that burn my empty heart to dust.
Struck by the clouds of cruel fate
My crown of Summer bloom is sere
Alone and sad, I watch and wait
And wonder if the end is near.
As conquered by the last cold air
When Winter whistles in the wind
Alone upon a branch that’s bare
A trembling leaf is left behind.
I find myself in this place—where the azure sky meets the parched earth. I have been here a while now.
The penitent have come to the desert to seek redemption in thirst and suffering since time out of mind. How many have come to this desert to cleanse their souls? Am I among their number?— From The Patron Saint of Lost Souls