Shared with W3 #175 – imagery.
Hopefully, the idea behind this poem will end up completely lost in time.

Villages, glimmer golden
far out across the calm, rippling
heartbeat waves
heading towards the dusted shore,

Captain sights land from the bridge,
sees history hidden in plain view,
steps off into a future
verboten even in whispers.

The riviera of fulfilled dreams
to serve the nabobs and jinns;
celebrated with a boom at midnight
as new flowers bloom in the dark.

Repurposed minarets laid foundations,
pulped to a powdered cement;
a soft underbelly for new castles
to stand among serene skies.

Intensified phosphorus heat
scorches the ground hard and dry.
A slaking toast to the Captain,
to all the pilots of their craft!

A New Jerusalem, forever a mirage,
chased by ever-thirsty camels
along the path made from the bones
of those who went before.