The missing link

 Art heals my soul in a way that I can’t describe. When I am lonely, when I am empty, used up. It consumes me. Takes me in. Gives me refuge. As I am. It is the only thing that does not judge me. But accepts me. Wholelly, completely as I am. For who and what I am.

The Missing Link

Days spin by like months rolled in a dust of halo whispering on the dry karoo ground

Red as the earth set on fire

Parched throats that no ocean can quench

Dry like the Wild, Wild, West movies with Clint Eastwood

I make you hear the music

Like a siren

Days go by and months roll to moth balls of summer days

Long days , short nights

Then I remember…

The last I saw this was

When I last saw myself I was

A virgin standing on a waterfall

I see things anew again

Then I remember the last time I saw this was

When I last saw myself

The missing link

Has and always will be

me

The missing link

Has and always will be

ME

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