By Ken Anderson , 12 October, 2018
When I retire, often late at night,
When the drink and the smoke have awakened my sight,
I close my eyes, and clear my mind,
And just drift away, leaving earth behind.
And as I pace, in my silent room,
I journey far beyond the moon.
I see all the stars, and I've given them names,
And imagine that somehow I'll get there one day.
And then it appears, a desert so deep,
Two suns shine upon me; the sand burns my feet.
This place is familiar; I've been here before.
The sand, a deep scarlet, the color of war.
And as I go deeper, my room disappears.
My eyes are still closed, but somehow I hear.
The voices are faint, but I follow the sound.
And watch in awe as it rises from the ground.
A city of sand, of steel, and stone.
I stand at the gates of a city I've known.
Surrounded by peoples so unlike our own.
A figure approaches, in patched leather clothes,
Red scales, and a dragon- like snout for a nose.
He flashes a smile, his fangs are all stained.
He says "I'd always wondered if we'd meet again. "
He extended an arm and clasped onto my own,
And said,
"it's good to see you home. "
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