The traveler of weary nature

His figure standing tall

Standing within the whirlwind

The disciplined man of dusk

He seeks what no man should seek

For tis too exotic for the meek eyes of man

But not for the eyes of he

For he'd danced in it's jamboree.

He alone as a burning candle

Which stands in the shamble

Firmly warding against the sands

Which chants for it's end

He travels forth

His spirit like a moth

Driven to the flame of tall pyramids

That which completes his expedition

And betwixt them, coming from the pits

Comes the black spirit of secrets

Wispy and cadaverous in nature

Forming a fracture against the storm

Swallowing the earth whole

Taking the soul of the world

To a hole of six feet

Sequestering the traveler

With but the destiny of his fever.