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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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