Immortal Men

this is a landscape plagued

by oblivious sandstorms

Specks of dust waiting to be liberated by the desert wind

to be granted impunity

from the sins of sins which is their very

Existence

None shall be exempt from this purgatory

Hapless and helpless; counting seconds to oblivion

they can only disgust the Unknowing

for forcing them to experience Existence

at its abhorrent of features

History doesn't erect pyramids nor

recount the legends

in clay tablets of the mediocre nor the cowardly

Only the cunning leave scars