Embers

You roam these sands alone
The scorching sun a burden on your naked skin
As you wear your mark of cain
You’ve seen as many days as grains of sand
One certainty:
You’ll soon be facing death
You drop down to your knees and to the skies you plea
And then horizon reveals to you a brilliant isle of green

Under the shade of sycamores
You find your peace
You lay your head on protruding roots
And fall asleep

You dream of tyrants rule, all the power held by you
As they all fell down to their knees
And on your tyrant's throne you finally felt at home
As if the sands were just a distant dream
But then you feel the sting of embers on your skin
You wake to see a burning isle of green