Ephemeral Cactus

In the shadowed valleys where whispers of moss dwell,
Leathery forms cast moonlit secrets—
Hieroglyphs not of stone,
But of forgotten tongues we once spoke with trembling lips.

Beneath the tanned skin of the ancient one,
Lies an echo of mortality; not like the withering of rose,
But an embrace colder than a whispered curse,
In lands unsown by man, untouched by time.

Listen to the rattles of spectral serpents,
Conduits through which the unfathomable flows,
Mapping dread constellations with fingers made of smoke,
The desert's sigh—a eulogy for those bewitched by thirst.