A Moment of Peace on Arrakis

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A Moment of Peace on Arrakis

Golden beneath the blue

egg of sky, the desert

offers the illusion

of docility. Sand is as omnipresent

as the cinnamon scent

of melange, as pernicious as the sun's glaring eyes.

Granules inch beneath stillsuit seals,

gather in creases of skin, cling

to eyelashes. Each gust of wind

alters the rippling form of the dunes,

grain by grain — a shifting tide of sand.

They say Paul-Muad'dib, the Mahdi,

could taste the future on the spice, sense

the twisting storms of time, pathways

billowing, splitting, churning

into new pathways. They say

he could carve fate

in the same way wind carves

desert and stone. But the Mahdi is long gone,

and the desert is quiet. No signs remain,

no worms stir the landscape,

no Fremen scuttle into the cool

depths of caves — just the hush

of wind and sand, just the harsh

stare of the sun and the lingering

incense of spice.

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Author's note: If you've read this poem and are very confused, it's likely because you have never read Frank Herbert's Dune (or seen either the movie or miniseries). I didn't intend for this to be a fan fiction poem, but the phrase "Winds of change (or) Winds Changed" present by xXAeymLXx got me to thinking about how the wind can alter dunes into rippling shapes, and because I am currently rereading the book and loving it all over again, the poem was a natural extension from there. Anyway, xXAeymLXx, I hope you enjoyed this, even if you are not a fan of Dune.

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