It is spurred beyond all senses,
running naked seemingly free;
so glad for the awakening
whom sleep dared once dream.

Across the endless wastelands,
in the meadows of dust,
towards the cool ocean's heart,
beating relentlessly upon the sun

Flee like a wild horse, escaped
from its carnal form; it ran
& runs towards nothing
but the salt of love.

Yet under this quivering sun,
where time became hot
thoughts burned into oblivion;

there is no other heart
to touch that what fell in the dust.

Soul becomes old
and drives madness
deep within its void,
whispering forever the untold
that it is love that
made the horse caress
(without a word said)
the naked sandstorm

Shades may run always in the shadowed stones
like the scorpion hidden in plain dark...
so did realization struck
- this wind swept emptiness was

everything but his heart.