/lit/ - Literature

from several years ago. Not sure how I feel about this or if I should return to it.

The Bitter Mercenary

Here comes the bitter mercenary,
who wades through the swamp of arms, legs,
and teeth. He stumbles often. He looks into the blank eyes of each one. We watched the fire burn in the distance. The flames engulfed desert sky. We hadn't seen the sun set since Keskese.

We wandered for years, crossing each dune thinking the next might be the last. The gaze of the sun taunted us. The emptiness of the white sand warned us about the end.
There is no philosophy of the octave, only math. He said one ounce of jasmine was enough for two prayers. We prayed twice for a gust of wind.

He told each of us not to beware of the men we can make out geometrically.

His life was his lute. His lute was his loot. His loot was his life. He is the bitter mercenary.

The equinox of the eastern light reminded us all of Narcissus. The story of a puma who douses himself in gasoline in protest is taken seriously.

We all push the shovel into the ground, we all wish to find gold, we never find it. Except for them. And them.

We found him lying in his own waste in the valley of Nowherenearhere. We all realized that summer that staring into the sun too long can change your mind.