Shadow of the Superstitions
The mating ritual of
Scorpions dancing in the moonlight
Holding claws and circling round
In the shadow of Superstition mountains
Tarantulas hunting, seeking prey to fill their emptiness
Saguaro cacti, silent sentinels, haven for desert birds
Stars seem bright, touchable
Nighttime heaven, reaches down, to caress desert..
Dry breezes rustle in moonlight,
Promising chill, before morn.
Superstitions of Indians and Spanish monks
And their cache of gold lost -Dutchman
Treasure, cursed, paid for, with life
Desert, sucked up tears of Anastazi,
Hopi, Apache, Spanish gold hoarders...Old prospectors,
Blood on sand, sinking in. Stories and sirens calling the song
?Obsession? of the superstitions.
While the scorpions glide gracefully, stingers erect.
Eerie whispers of days long ago
Deaths long past-.desert
Enduring on -past generations
Looking barren, yet teeming with life.
Surpassing beauty needs respect
Desert brings death, to the unwary , distracted.
Dried snakeskin with rattles, herald the possibility
Of an unseen snake.
I sift thru layers of time. While the desert dwellers hunt to survive.
Birds peck holes in cacti, in absence of trees.
Tarantulas, cunning, hairy, eight legs, of predation.
Scorpions hide, in heat of day and scavenge nightly
Bleached bones post a warning....
.Past westerners, some...gold seekers
Silver miners, wandering, in solitude, seeking treasure
They thought was happiness.
Solitary life, peace, of desert. And mountain.
Friends with their pack mule .Listening to mountain voices, and desert
Calling them, over the edge, of sanity.
Living dreams and imaginings...I will never be the same...
Seduced, by the arid Valley of the Sun.
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