The Gentle Breeze by Elliott Robertson
I thought I wanted
An acre of land, a ring on each finger,
Three lovers and a desert caravan.
I thought I wanted
Beads and jewels, diamonds and rubies,
A title, fame, control.
One Morning I awoke to thunder
And everything I knew was wiped away.
Everything seemed distant; only
Emptiness was nigh.
My soul had different plans for me,
My soul was aching to evolve.
Sometimes it takes a hurricane
To open up my ears to hear
The gentle breeze blow through the elms,
The stillness of myself in quiet pray
No comments:
Post a Comment