Metaphorical

Walking, walking,
one foot a metronome
follows the other.
Why can’t the back one
stop, 
take command 
and declare,
“That’s enough”?
But what else to do?
We’re in this place,
this post amniotic stew
with a void behind,
ahead, cool mountain 
peaks and springs
beyond the next dune
or the next,
who knows,
but we’ve been promised this
by those who say
they’re privy 
to such things,
and so it is,
we go.
Walking, walking,
the walking wounded,
sand sucking at our feet,
death in the day 
from the heat,
in the night 
from the cold,
the pleasure’s not ours
to choose.
The weak drop out
the desert eats them,
surely it’s the devil
who stalks us all day
to pounce in the night,
so we have to move on
toward this Eden
as promised,
and look up ahead,
there it is 
shining
beyond that next dune
or is this all 
a mirage?

The Desert