Saturday, January 28, 2012

Midnight Guardian of the Sultan's Caravan

With a thirst impossible to slake
A figure stands still, and watching
In the middle of the night
Right before the caravan is to wake
To travel before the day
With the heat and blinding light
Of the desert sun
A guard stands in the simmering wind storm
In daylight the storm will bring suffering
The sand above the solid ground
Still warm, upon his feet
The dry air and the abrasive sand
Feels like burning sleet upon his face
The heat that blasts makes men tired
Even after sleep
A brief blast of the ram horn
The alarm sounds
The Bedouin have surrounded the camp
And begin to attack
With little warning
Invading the dreams
Of the Sultan's men
And the caravan