adventures in dysthymia

Friday, November 20, 2015

Grains of Sand, a poem

Grains of Sand

I have been in the desert,
counting the grains of sand.
They mark the days of exile.
They whisper in the night
of an oasis.

She is there, say the dunes,
shifting ever slowly.
Among the palms shall you
find her, and she will feed you
of the sweet dates.

As a wandering tribe
I passed from land to land.
Where does tomorrow grow,
I asked, beside shaded waters?
None could say.

Further on, they tell me.
They point to the setting sun.
There lie all the wonders
we fear to seek, as many
as grains of sand.

All I had has blown
away, crossed that horizon.
The desert has no end.
I have counted the grains
of sand, and know.

Stephen Brooke ©2015

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