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The Barren Land

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No one knows the life of The Barren Land as I do.
The Barren Land doesn’t bear kindness or evil,
Harvest lies or the truth,
Doesn’t judge but is judged.
Only sprouting equal judgement on all who defy its rigid rules.
The Barren Land isn’t two faced.
It sports an honest single scarred slashed and burned face in as much honest as honesty permits,
No remits.

The land doesn’t dare
But it does challenge.
Do you dare to accept its offer?

If so be prepared for a character.
A sorrowful person.
A lonely individual
An outlasted individual.
One who is forever bound to listen to songs
-Swan songs
Eulogy songs
Of the dead, the dying and then death. Silence.
Once again.

Over the hopeless and endless years that pass by,
The land learns not to sigh.
Not to make a sound, why?
Perhaps the land has become accustomed to its way of life;
A fake silhouette of its best friend, the end.
The silence that mourns the dead.

For after three days here,
I’ve become
And scared.
I no longer shout for help
No one will ever come
Not even the vultures to pluck out my eyes.

On the few heartbeats that still remain,
Clutching raw earth as I sweat my last sweat,
Gasp my last gasps,
Eyes glazed still, at rest, glimpsing the end.
I apologise to The Land for taking up its offer.
Arms spread
I give back my body to the world that I came,
To The Barren Land.

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