By Sophomore Guest Poet Remy Haring

I drift through this unfamiliar land

Gripping tightly a picture of those of a bygone era

Draped in a cloak and veil

The blowing sand flays my skin like razor blades

And I can’t see my hand if I put it out in front of me

I am not from here

I am not welcome here

The folk here view me as a vagabond

They knew each other since they were naught but children

And they are ruthless to outsiders

Backstabbing and treachery are a daily act

When I wander into town I am met with glares or apathy

I find it best to keep my mouth shut around them

In order to survive I must look over my shoulder

And keep moving

I write this as I make camp for the night in the dunes

It’s getting late

I should get in my sleeping bag

Lulled by the lullaby of the storm