I walked across the desert with the Devil
A slow trot ensuring I was careful
He gave me paper and then he gave me pencil
He talked as though the world was rather sterile

He showed me war he showed me death
And I saw things that took my breath
And still I marched into the depth
And on I march while getting deeper yet

The writing’s on the wall contain disillusionment
And not a cry ever sounding jubilant
And though it pale a voice to help illuminate
And at his wall I felt my soul rejuvenate

I took to paper and then to pen
And as I wrote I felt again
I spoke of how but never when
My dreams with him are filled with zen

And though his touch cannot be felt
It is his words that make me melt
And care not how his names are spelt
For in his heart is where I’ve always dwelt

© Delia Ross. 2019

4 thoughts on “Illuminate

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