fauxcroft

A wasteland of rock and nothing else

A barren landscape and no sign of help,

All I see is a bland nihilistic zone

With no sign of a path to get back home,

The sky offers nothing of which to follow

There’s no birds, animals and no trees,

No rivers or brooks no sounds of seas

Nothing on offer to drink or eat for me,

Which makes this place of nightmares complete

No horrors, no terror, just air to breathe,

And the realisation of dying by gradual degrees

Unless by a miracle someone rescues me,

In this despairing world that I hope is illusory.