I march this wasteland, so flawless and white,
Its beauty quite deadly, but I am alright,
My metallic footsteps embedded in dust,
Eternally polished and no signs of rust.
I hear the thin wind scream between cliff and slope,
Reminding me that I should give up all hope,
I've been abandoned, some eons ago,
In dry ice and red sand, a dead river's flow.
I listen to silence, sometimes a short spark,
I rarely shout questions out into the dark,
No answer from home since that one fateful night,
I don't know what happened, but something's not right.
I never stay more than a day at a spot,
I've seen unknown boulders and canyons a lot,
Some get more attention, the smaller ones less,
A private collection of my loneliness.
(2013)
