No man’s ever the same, once he’s crossed the sand, The desert leaves its mark like a scar on his hand. Each step burns a lesson, each breath carves a line, In the silence, he wrestles with something divine.
He either takes something — a truth hard and clear, Or leaves something behind, like doubt or like fear. The sun strips him bare, the wind wears him thin, Till all that remains is the fire within.
No map can prepare him, no words can explain, The weight of the silence, the sweetness of rain. He meets his own shadow, his soul face to face, In the wide open nowhere, he finds his own place.
For the desert is ruthless, but honest and true, It takes what you cling to and shows you what’s you. No man’s ever the same, once the sands have been crossed — Some find themselves whole, and some count the cost.
