The seer of the sand

It is time to rise, O Kinsmen, for mighty forces are a-brew tonight,
Ready to erupt like molten lava from the belly of a volcano,
I can feel them throbbing in my temple and attack on my-eye-sight,
Yet my vision is for ever like the circle of eternity.

Is eternity forever, I ask the gods, as the flags wave high in the skies above.
The gods are stupefied at the outrageous question and shall have no more of it;
so they smite me with the wrath of a thousand curses of the all-encompassing emptiness.
Yet the curses are no match for the sword I brandish,
and like leaves in a tempest, I make a tornado out of the gale.

For I am the seer of the sand, the vision of the land,
the eyes of the rock, the senses of the clock,
the hands of time, the rhythm of rhyme,
the pain of mind-numbing banality,
the mundane commonality.

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