Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Once we could have written stories,

full of beautiful words under a summer moon.

Stories never to be told.

You left me behind in a haze of dust,

difficult for my eyes to see through.

A natural blanket that obscures.

Standing waiting for the dust to settle,

hoping blinded eyes can see.

You vanished beyond the desert.

The civilization that lies beyond

called out and you answered.

An opportunity difficult to pass up.

I turn my back to a paradise unseen,

walking back to a barren landscape.

Where I write stories all my own.



David Bruneau

David Bruneau

I enjoy many hobbies including cycling, playing guitar, writing, and tie dying. Interested in the human experience and other’s stories.