Ill Winds
Calling upon my
third eye
I continue on
my journey.
Traveling through
forrests of thick
thistles.
One pricked my
finger
yet I travel on.
In the canyons of
my mind
I grope to find
my way.
I cannot stop
I must not stop.
My jorney will
never end
until we unite.
poem by Heather Burns
Added by Poetry Lover
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