Mirage

This is not a place Not a place where trees grow where water runs freely This is a place of the quiet solitude A place of fullness emptiness Yet to the people of old The forest dwellers The water dwellers The nomadics This is there home Its your home too In the desert Deep in the desert theres a cave where nothing holds all 10,00 paths lead to somewhere one path to nowhere leads here This cave Is not etched on any map Hidden from site Located on a landscape A heated arid landscape A desert being That burns senses evaporates Dims senses chars self The cave Blood red rock patterned with handprints white Ashen pigment marks the dead, alive the unborn Here All that ever happened is happening and all that’s to happen happened Here If one could hear 10,000 call shattering the solitude into 100,000 realites Here theres a pool untouched by heat and wind by element A perfect reflection If one could see This reflection holds 10,000 in a hypnotic state of self belief There tears roll Eroding rock sustaining shape But It’s a cave Just a cave Alive with the heat of being and non being An imposition In the solidity of rock An empty space containing all Made of nothing A place few go Few find This is the mirage of dream