Child of The Sands

A poem about time and destiny and how it can be grim.

O, drifting child of the sands,
to the below, where you meet fated lands,
mysteriously awaited with its cold, depraved hands.

O, dazed child of the sands,
to the carved path, where you meet fated lands,
and with glimmering eyes, destined to its demands.

O, lonely child of the sands,
your silence echoes, where your curse awaits in the stands,
foully awakened with it's cold, depraved hands.