tides of the heart

the moon turns
and the heart grows restless —
 
whispers rustle in a silent breeze
of sands drenched in the blood of kings
 
the spirit journeys to a distant land
where candles flicker in a starless night
and farewells sway with the rise and fall of tents
 
the rising of the sun, the darkening of the day
the skulking of wolves, the graceful lion’s tread
the arrow’s rain quenching the thirst of the sweetest rose
 
restless,
 
as all the while i stand,
trapped by the veils of time
 
unable to call back the moon that turns the tide
to turn back the blood-red tides that left
in the weight of unspeakable sorrow
a desert drowning
 
and with it,
my heart.