Hidden Oasis

We are all wanderers in our proverbial deserts

Seeking, ever seeking, for a hidden oasis

Lying just beyond the horizon, over one last hill,

Made up of what quenches our parched souls.

We know exactly where to go without compass or map

Having visited our wellspring of healing time after time

Aware but constantly pulled by the dust storms of life

Chasing after mirages of who we ought to be.

Maybe we need to close our tired eyes, dear soul,

And let our hearts lead the way instead of our minds,

Guiding us forward instead of pulling us sideways

Leading us directly toward that place of stillness

Where we can rest our heavy shoulders and weary feet.

Published by Quietest Poet

Writer, mother, counselor, flower gardener, recipe seeker, and Netflix lover.

3 thoughts on “Hidden Oasis

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