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A Fata Morgana mirage loomed hazily, yet intensely off in the distance On a scale of untold magnitude with respect to packing heat So she felt it best to take the path of least resistance
I’m in the vast desert, calling for help every chance I get, but nobody can hear you when you’re in the desert.   I’m nearly dying from the heat, dehydrated,
Walking in the desert is an act of complete awarenesss, You are a visitor You must tread lightly  The desert demands respect, you hapazardly and carelessly step, you will be pricked, you will be stung
Baking, broiling, blindingly bright, blistering sun,The kabob that is my body searing, skeweredOver scorching, sweltering, sizzling sand.Deceptively blue skies devoid of any deliverance,
I am a creature of the desert I can be no other, it is my home, I am its son Though the mountains call, and I go to them, I do not stay But having drunk deep of shade and pine and mushroom loam
You arrive in the wooden town by one of the only roads It must have just been raining outside because you can hear the toads But you’ve been driving for days in the state and haven’t seen a cloud
No sleep. No water. Dry mouth seems to be the onluy taste available. No reach or want for what is close. Only hardships are available. Thee isn't much around in this deserted place we call home.
I am in love with the rain. The way it cleanses my heart, and soaks up my pain. The way it relieves me from the draining sunlight that had burned up all my emotions and left me a barren wasteland.
A huge land has sand. It is hot in the region. There is so much fire.
I look up to see nothing but a blue canvas, dangling, threatening to collapse over me. Existence stalks me as a gust of nothingness reminds me of my
I am whole whithin The hot dusty air, Rocks rising left and right, Everything is like fire, Reds and oranges surround me, Fueling my energy,
a sky of blackbirds and blue jays  does never cross my mind   as much as deserts and cacti all be in short supply.   and though i of the sea proclaim the safety of my heart  
dear mountain standard time   the desert is in itself an oasis, an escape from the monotony of trees and grass that plague the forest valley   they are all i have ever known, truly
I pitched a tent at Kayoke Among desert sands around Grown tired of reg’lar folk To wilderness I am bound   I sang a song so merry
Tonopah is where I like to be, Tonopah is full of rich history. Tonopah is a place for exploration, Tonopah is my favorite destination. Tonopah is a place everyone should roam,
Who are you? I can't see you But I know you're there   Will you stay with me? We can conquer the desert You and me   So what do you say? Run away with me?
Here is the trail; right over the hill Runs that my soul sang out along; You can see my secret creek in the ravine still, with my makeshift bridges choked in winter’s grip.  
No illuminating grass, No water for miles,  The Sun beat down agressively,  I shielded my eyes,  Lost,  The only word to describe me,  Where am I? Where should I be?
to the wild spirit woman of the carved and sacred desert, move freely in your primal body glistening with moonrise dance to the current of the boiling river as the dam collapses
You are a child's entertainment. You are my entertainment. They scoff at your gaudy colours, They play you off as too innocent for their rebellious excursions. But I am here waiting with you
If I were on a desert island I would probably already have everything I needed because technically “Desert” and “Desserted” are two separate thing entirely
It started with a light  a single life.  the light under the door   coming through the cracks in the windows  cracks under the lids   of my eyes  waking slowly   in your arms.   
in the reds and blues there be a youth, looking toward mountain and sky, finding the signal there: the buzz of joshua. the whisper of the desert pine.
There's a place where the middle meets the east.   Some of it is made of sand, it's bland and you could get lost - in the smoke, the ashes, and in the tears of children and parents
In your eyes is rain on the dese
Are we not all connected? What a lonely world would we be if we were not all affected by each other.
The page screams out A  faintly blinking blank screen in front Of the pale face of the writer.     She stares with list Disappointment at her failure to subsist on the great words of those
He thought he shared the universe with all;Heard many voices in response remandAn inundation—words unlike his call,From the desert-bare cliff across the sand.Some morning from the parched and thirsty ground
it started with a wave no a tsunami. it started with a tsunami bringing chaos to the order crushing the structure flooding normal until i was drowning in an endless ocean
Gently place your foot upon the road, the simple start of every journey.   Little do you know, that this road is me,
Theres an artist behind this Idiot Theres an Ocean beneath this pool and it's full of sharks I present a calm surface because no one can fathom the depth and once they stick a toe in and realize there is no bottom
When the ocean is far awayand the wind is full of sand instead of salt,I dive back into the green pools offorgotten peace in your eyes.I swim through lakes of cheap vodkaand expensive memories.
I prize my gift from the sun, the smooth ebony blanket that trails in my path. It bears the token of my progress, like a toll booth of past endowments, always full of unanswered prayer.  
Sand spread everywhere  Gracious mountains here and there  Come cool off with me
Summer rays burn,
I’m tired, So tired. Someone please let me sleep.   I’ve been wandering for so long, Traveling through this vast desert. There’s nothing in sight No oasis like they claim,
My soul succumbs
Ginger and Persimmons the scent of desert far mixed with spice and orient of mystery and of death the wisdom of a dying man held beneath the desert sky whispers of an ancient time
Petrified air sits frozen in the sweltering, deserted city of sand. Its horizon the same in all directions, rural settings look crowded to this muted kingdom.
    Raw land, ancient, sloping and wild, untouched, orange in the dying light, just rocks and sand.   Like the finger paintings of God, an animal song frozen into sand,
    Be happy for peoples reached goals and achievements.
Brown, bronze, and copper sprawl on the horizon The faded canvas rough and dry The sky flares into a symphony of shimmering colors Conducted by the two-faced sun
Feel the touch of the desert sun Warming along our flesh Egyptian cotton touching me the passion grows internally a kiss egniting the flames breathless like a drowning child Blinded by red and gold
We travel across the ancient land along emptiness and desert sand Searching for riches and for gold From stories our ancestors told Travelers since the day of birth in search for gems of the earth
What is it that compels me to write?
The crags and cliffs stretch down into      the brown of the landscape. Everything is dead:      the trees, the animals, the earth... all varying shades of abandonment. Light bends and breaks in submission
A mirage upon the endless sands The heat whispering for you to sleep Your body slows to the movement of the timid wind The will to survive has vanished like the waters
They tried to teach poetry as a class in fifth grade, Even the teacher opposed to ‘teaching’ poetry, Poetry is not taught, it is felt in your heart and soul, It is a way of expressing yourself like nothing and no one else,
To travel alone, Through a lonely desert. Everywhere you look, Dunes of sand. No one to share your company, No one to stand by your side. Tis a lonely world, this world can be.
Desolation is a dusty road How soothing is a leader’s gentle sigh In DC, crowds buzzing and humming with anticipation. Will 1963 change the course of the world? He tells us Dreams grew in the cotton fields
A Saguaro was killed in the street today, I wept as each car ran it over Poor thing it didn’t get to see a hundred A flower never bloomed on its green spiked scalp.
Tracing envious combinations up dripping castles, magnified to become the object of shifting poles. Wind grazing lazy whitecaps among the visions, memories, smooth deep red river stones.
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