No Sacred Rest

Skim the horizon
With dust, our memory
The setting sun
Shall burn through our rough robes

We speed in the wake
Of distance

The sand plumes
The whipping grass
A white sound
Whipping at our fleeing figures

We fly, we soar
Wind is nothing
We created it
We become it
It howls in rage
As we burst through this trail

On our quickened souls
To nowhere
To everywhere

We see no water
No sacred rest

It is the pounding
The sifting dream
Of desert in our ride

The dunes
The ridge

Ghostlike
We pass them all
For this is the ride
The ride of lifetimes

You’ve seen it
You’ve seen us pass
Did you join us

In our flight
Our passion
Our departure

We sailed upon the seas of sand
We savored the hard sweat
The span of the world

We touched the horizon
We touched the depths of the depths
And we seek them again

Ride with us
Ride beside
This caravan fleet

This fiery wake
Of dust
Passion

Ride
Begin

They Have No Quest

Lands ancient
Where preying birds
Cry out, lonesome
For winds on high
To take them home

Where, like slow drums
All that is heard
Are the heartbeats
Of the wanderers

Who walk their paths
With staves and cloaks
Crying as the winged
For winds on high
To take them home

Lonely music
Is their story
Of dust and tears
Endless wandering

They have no quest
It is their way
To walk the lands
Without cities

Only wild realms
Of forests long
And great deserts
And mountains high

They live their lives
Tasting the dry skies
They have no wealth
But their wood staves

And their windblown
Jeweled, bright minds.