Insipidous

Try to escape, just sneak away,
find a cliff face to climb,
the ancient homes shining
ingots inset in the crag -
golden lives once sparking.
Long trails wind to the valley
stone steps worn by bare feet
and years, interminable years
wanting rain as dusty rivers
stay dry, cracking in the heat.
Empty homes on the precipice
dark window holes in white stone,
those blank, distant eyes – deep
sallow, weeping without tears.
Thirst, the endless, unrelenting thirst,
the solitary cliffs bleached to bone.