There was a time prior to this that I carried my thoughts with me

Now, alas, the damnation of mediocrity has grabbed hold of my feet

With rolling yellow hills and winds that carry nothing

The desert has a habit, of calling out our bluffing

For I am not the first that has lived in this broken home

If you peer closely you’ll see, the desert made up of broken bones

Because when all of us are done enjoying the delicacy of a sweet treat

To walk forward, our eyes must leave the sky to return to our feet

Do not worry, the journey won’t have to be completed alone

For the start line of yours is not your fathers home

And when you finish, the torch will be passed unto the next

The desert’s silence held ancient whispers, nothing close to a hex