Direbirds

Scorched desert,  dried cracked land,  pale skeletons the former plant life roll on by, pushed by a dry, lip-cracking wind.

I slowly lurch along an uknown path.   Maybe I’m going further from help, but staying here is certain death.

How many have fallen on this hell floor.   How many have succumbed to it’s inferno after their bodies have given their last moisture to the immortal fire in the sky

I see them now.   Circling.   The direbird.  Harbingers of hopelessness.   This desert cannot take your life.   You must give it.

The Birds come when they know you have lost.  How many hours have I looked at the unchanging horizon.   No mountains,   no bumps, no changing,  just heat, and dust, and cracking skin, and dried blood.

Why do I keep moving.

They will say I gave up.   But what if I just chose to end the pain.

And so I bare my chest to the vultures above, and let them have me.