When you have travelled
through jungles of imagination,
trod upon hot pavement
in arid cities of desire,
when all you’ve sought
refuses to be found,
stand still
and let the sands beneath your feet
claim you.
For anywhere you walk is holy ground.
In the sparks of your own campfire
you recognize the palace
that has blazed in memory
with every forward step.
Alone in silky unbound space,
you hear the call to sovereignty.
This is your country,
your fiery hearth.
Take back the throne
you abdicated, the treasure
that was always yours.
Tattered and lost, for forty years
in the wilderness of thought,
it’s time to cross beyond borders,
to repossess the silent gaps
between each breath
where none can trespass.
Banish the fear patrols,
the lies that gag your glory.
Now all the stories you repeat
taste like tin. Spit them out.
Here is your fertile valley
where underground streams
finally surface,
not a place
but a state of being,
a state of being replete.
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