Tuesday, May 02, 2006


Because I do not turn

Cold winter day.
Grey skies wishing for desert winds.
These come from the seas, warm,
and arrive on cold shores.

Outside is the
The universe manifesting.
In here are hungry,
Slack shells of souls looking,
wanting, praying for the promises
of a negligent god.

Empty of awareness,
They seek salvation.
Blind to the usefulness
Of empty space, inside,
they carry on in faith.

Like their Maker,
Blind to their own jewel.

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