Child Of White Sands

There is a hot wind, blowing off the desert, who's whispering's are not lost. Cross hiss of withering sands, it pushes truth, on parched and desiccated lips...toward us. Surely, as the sayings of a wise man. Cometh...cometh it. Kindly. Neither meant to harm. "Forgive all these, Transcend beyond", it says.

This was that,  that subtly...came; remaining momentarily, a river...lingering, then passing on, to hidden stream...diminished none, where spirit...is not seen. I am wiser, by the listening...than speaking, where the welcome lets a man...that come, as gifts and teachers...from a promised land.


Written by Bruce James Clyde 2016,  Deming, New Mexico

Photo Credit: newmexico,org, White Sands National Monument