Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Being Night

Sands of wind and time
rush through my face
as if I'm not there.
Only the shallow crawl
of a snail can
withstand the blow.

Others trek through
the desert finding corruption
that sinks down
into the unending grit.

The night air
doesn't sting anymore.
The moon — a nurturing orb —
holds out her hand
and guides me
through the day
into night
into day
as I advance toward
my highest good

no longer following
and, yet,
no longer lost.


Laura said...

no longer following and no longer lost...beautiful!

Sherrie Lovler said...

Thank you, Laura. And thank you for the blessing on your site.