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The riches of the self
Strange, to think that each of us
is filled to overflowing
with a treasure house of jewels;
sparkling when they’re known;
beyond price, beyond touch,
beyond sight – yet not beyond
the sensing in one other self..
filled, and yet doubting, towards, even, denying..
awaiting - perhaps not ardently enough? -
the moment when they’re called
to show themselves; the almost
(but not quite…) unimaginable
riches of the self..
poem
by
Michael Shepherd
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