No One Has Been Here Before

by | Issue #3, Issues

The air buzzes without echo
Red grass scrapes our shoulders and saddle bags
Behind us unseen swarm men with guns and rotten teeth
Whispering our sin through cracked lips.
No one has been here before

We steer a wide berth around buildings silhouetted
Like thorns among impossible mounds of earth
As children play, others shout greetings
But they do not call for us.
No one has been here before

Mountains rise blue from the horizon
Behind us smoke swarms over red grass
The distant echo of gunfire
Silencing those who once built monuments.
No one has been here before

Every morning blinded by the sun,
Each evening, our shadows cast as if by giants
Pursued still by those with hands stained bloody
Our sin now a prayer on their lips.
No one has been here before

A trickle of a stream icy to the touch
We drink deep
And rest upon the green grass
To leave nothing behind.
No one has been here before

Neal Sandin is an independent market researcher by trade and arm-chair historian for free. He has traveled extensively across Asia and Europe and has even explored the exotic land of New Jersey, although he currently lives in upstate New York with his wife and three cats. He can be found on Twitter @nealsandin and occasionally posting things on his website: