Blistered feet tread upon unyielding earth,
tired legs too weary, the unsettled heart
stumbles forward—toward what? Death, or rebirth?
No matter. Either tears the soul apart.
The cracked, dry earth beneath, long without rain,
mirrors the dearth within, the hollow shell
of happier days, the bright, searing pain
of memories—Heaven besieged by Hell.
Is this my soul’s reward? This have I earned
for the justice purchased with blood-soaked hands.
For the injuries of others I burned
in vengeance—now to these alien sands
I commit my spirit, poured out like wine
upon the alter of the Grand Design.
