POEM: Raging Canyon [Virelai]

The scrub and tumble weed are scant
against colorful sands.
The burning heat will ensure rants
while crossing desert lands.

The heat is felt, and rage supplants
the awe of the badlands.
A broken mind enters a trance
as it dreams choking hands.

The hands enwrap, at just a glance,
the throat of a strange man,
who offended with just a stance,
given the heat’s dead hand.

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