My desert: A poem 

In my mind, are seeds that never seem to sprout 

The soil is bare with my skull’s all too painful  gout 

Empty words spring forth from a flaccid tongue 

I breathe ideas like I depend on a single lung 

I feel free as a tree ever chained to its roots 

Heavy are my wrought iron and leaden boots 

I climb out of bed every day totally out of breath 

It sometimes feels as difficult as it can get 

My horoscope is the four corners of my fateful bed 

It is to the blues that I am so silently stoically wed 

The wrinkles on my skin are cobwebs of stagnant time 

Yet, my soul is potently hidden in the valleys of my rhyme 

Love irrigates, hope percolates, an invisible rose shines 

Figs, dates and prunes grow on the fringes of my lines 

The night of imagery twinkles with the stars in my eyes 

For, it is in the desert that the awesome mirage lies