The Observer
By: Don Pax
Like travelers who pass by a flowing spring,
We barely notice the gift each day brings.
Our souls at one point full of wonder and grace,
Now glance through life’s surface at a fast pace.
The well of essence, once so clear and pure,
Daily neglect slowly grows incomprehensible.
We chase the mundane, climbing worldly hills,
While inner drought kills our essence slowly.
It is only when silence echoes in our core,
And emptiness we cannot ignore,
Do we recall the sweetness of the drink
That kept us whole and finally stopped to think.
How strange it is for us not to understand
The treasures held so lightly in our hands.
Like water in a parched and dusty throat,
We crave what once we carelessly forgot.
