The Desert

Currents of life interwoven in time
The guilt of the masses that fell to the crime
But who did the damage--the queen or the mime...

And who held the cup overflowing with tears,
as it slipped from the culprit and into the years
where time was a theory and few were the fears...

Who left unopened the Devil's last deeds
and stained white the tresses of cart-laden steeds
that trotted along to the heat and the weeds...

Who knew the secrets that never were told
of the Virgin's red hair growing rotten and old
and to whom were such treasures ground up and then sold...

Where lies the remnants that fell to the floor
when an innocent child was pinned to the door
and ignorant faces were forced to know more?