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.

POEM: Traveler [Bergerette]

I’ve ridden the rails
spooked by horn wails,
yet still rode.
I’ve hiked hills and dales
caught in rains and gales,
but still strode.
I’ve watched wind fill sails,
holding pail to bail —
will still flowed.