The lone wanderer, last of the men
shrouded in blizzard and dust-storm alike
Lord of the ruins if he would but take pause
But madness compels him forth
in pursuit of one, his equal
in flight from another, the same
in constant chase but unable to close distance
like the three suns overhead
How many years since he had last been in this town?
He enters the council hall, opens the topmost drawer of the desk
where he knows he will find a message from his prey
The taunt reads
“Not today. Not tomorrow. Not yesterday.”
The wanderer tears it to pieces
then leaves his own in its place for his own pursuer, reading the same
He reads the taunt and tears it to pieces before writing the same
Lord of the ruins if he would but take pause
But madness compels him forth