Like a constant drum thumping
in the background of some ancient tribal dance
you feel life beating against your brow
as sorrow and anger rises again

Knowing simple truths that don’t wash away.
Truths about your certain fate,
repeating histories that were never written,
relived in an endless circle of emotion.

Searching for cool cleansing water,
you find yourself wondering aimlessly
in the desert’s vast angry beauty,
ravenous for lost souls.

No wind. No shelter, No tears
just the heat of exposure, walking proud
and the drum beat reminder of your sins
worn like another scarlet letter for all to see.

– Previously Published 1993

Grand Canyon

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