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High Desert Spring

The land of many busy roads
off towards, the suns' demise;
up here, where the air is clear
there are castles in the skies.

Winters' chill is evermore
the ambience of the day;
as we struggle to find purchase
in the sand, and desert clay.

The wind coerces everyone
to "pause", and deeply "sigh";
without renewed perspective
one might cease, to even try.

Pedestrian mundanity
sneaks in as the "new" norm;
while an ocean of second notions
keeps us all from feeling, warm.

In the blind visioned distance
lies the truth from things unseen;
playing tricks with known realities
high desert springs are cold, and mean.

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 

Comments're still a diamond, in my eye.

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