Click Page 33

Poetry of Issue #8        Page 33


He fell on the battlefield of eternity
slowly onto the red dirt of a beloved desert.

Gently spun by a Nordic breeze he had an instant
to ponder the memories carved upon the air.

Soon the burning realm would mean little to him
behind the million-year-old dunes.

Often he had contemplated the errant’s destiny
at peace within the ramparts of solitude.

Now the decay of a monument yet unfinished
began in the whisper of gentle sands.

A last feeble attempt reached for the towers
of the fortress crumbling into the heavy tomb.

The breast continued its fragile race
invisible already to the brush and its inhabitants.

One day he knew perhaps an unsuspecting saunterer
will stumble upon the ruins of this mysterious island.

Sleep comes now under the tepid cover of a dying fire
resting he imagines the first drop of morning dew.

Tomorrow will awaken without him
no one will sense his absence safe perhaps a void in the wind.

Fabrice B. Poussin