Midas Sands
Midas sands run like tiny agitated rivers
across the face of the blazen, merciless desert
The Golden God wields his hot anger
upon the wrinkles of the sand-blasted terrain
Grain silos stand: One Two Three
in a conspiring triangle
The apparent coolness of the silo
contrasts with the withering heat
clawing at the unyeilding silos
Within, the grain seeks protection, comfort
Ignorant of the evil closing in
Sinister hollowness, reducing space…
the silos completely aware of the increasing
pressure on the grain
Remove every last once of their
Being
Like Heroes in their own time