The Rush

The Rush, The Devils, The Desert

 

The Rush sails the sands

And combs the dunes for devils

Though hot, it’s not hell

 

Pitchfork havin’ beasts

Fork-tongued, forlorn, fiendish

Weep while we wither!

 

The damned devils lurk,

Scrawl across the sands their marks,

“There is no God here!”

 

God prayed to the Rush,

“Be valiant on your voyage”

Wept! Then crossed herself.

 

Night Falls and the Rush Prays for Sleep

 

Scorcher turned to frost

The great star burst to diamonds

No light, no warmth: Dark!

 

His heart goes thump thump

As it pumps and pumps and pumps

If it quits, he’ll die

 

“Rush?” Mikka Maw Cawed.

“What?” inquired the Rush, wild eyed.

“Our quest: a mirage.”

“Sleep, steal me swiftly.

My mind marauds to madness!

How I long for peace!”

 

Hoorah! cheered the men

Fin'ly a devil's captured

Next comes the torture

 

The Rush inspects it

Makes notes of its dead figure

And curses its corpse

 

Odd the demon seemed

Like nothing he'd ever seen

Describes it thusly: 

It's head strangely clad

With some jutting silken strands

All are lustrous threads.

Jewels! Jewels! The Rush thought

Two precious orbs in its face

They shine in the light.

 

Rows of square-cut bones,

Two, beneath the cheek and nose

Pearl white and pretty.