Desert Wraith

Through tears in a faceplate stares
an electronic eye, damaged,
and long ago beyond repair.
But the beast marches on with groans and creaks;
rusted, made even more frightening when
such insanity overtakes machines.
With claw at side and malfunctioning eye,
the beast leaves behind the mark of its passing:
a name scrawled in sand with an unsteady hand
and a wish to let die this regret everlasting.
The mirages have said, silver-faced, mane of red,
that there is nothing more for the beast to look t'ward
than to hear its name said and at last be displaced
from the time-lost curse of The Master's Black Sword.