Like cows to the old shrine

January 9, 2008
Like cows to the old shrine
we walk faithfully towards
a clearing in the woods
the safe harbor of clarity
in the form of syrupy air.

To get there we must pay with our blood
thorns prick us constantly.
The red essence of self trickles
down our ankles and feet
like a tear, a piece of soul
unwilling to part with its home.

The earth posesses them
as a child would consume candies

Our penance is compensated
with the sweet air we breathe in
and in this way we are reborn.

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