Sacred Inside

 

There is a desert in the corner of a man’s soul

Where he keeps a thing too precious.

He walks through the hot sand and scrambles over jagged rocks

With a skin full of water, looking over his shoulder to ensure

That nothing else follows him.

It sits all alone, a belief or memory or silly thought too fragile,

Too vital to his being to let it near another part of him.

The visits are frequent enough to keep the thing alive,

And perhaps one day the grains of sands and chunks of stone

Will have no choice but to succumb to the will of the thing

And you will catch a glimpse of it on the other side of a stream.

Desert Stream

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