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..
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-riches-of-the-self/
