When the muse dies (or when the soul wanders off)

The rough desert sands blind us, Pierce into our eyes and render us sightless. In this wilderness The stark barrenness of hopeless is tangible, As the hurt of broken dreams becomes truth Like the tears that result when the Laboured toil result to nothingness Or like the eternal pursuit of the rainbow’s end Or like a boat that sails on sea without captain Or a soul escaped from the body of a madman. The rough desert sands blind us, Pierces into our eyes and renders us sightless. And drive us to darkness Where, in the hollow asylum We grapple with the truth, Searching for the lamp And the voice of reason haunts us. And mocks us