Let It Out

Its anything that gears you to do something worth doing.

Being being, we were ensphered
In this domain of humongous sand;
Oceanic. Heaped in mighty magnitude
That seems nothing else below exists,
And nothing can ever be installed
Save the hut we lay our weary heads
At times when the sun goes to rest.
A cursory stare of the ecosystem
Smacks down one's expectations
Of satisfaction and twelve baskets of fishes and bread
Into an mire of misapprehension and stagnation.
What else do one expects
From a sphere that can barely bear
The weight of banana trees,
Talk more of something as huge as sabicu?
In this arid realm,
That boast more of scorpions, snakes,
Mountain devils and dunes denude of trees
As if taken to a barber's stead
And scraped of all hair on it's scalp,
Leaving no single standing
Nor a vestige of regrowth
One is beholden to cave an acre
Where he tills, plants and irrigates.

The ergs is a conserve of bazillion dreams,
Oust when, to doubt, hopes lost their breath.
The figures in the vault beneath
Overwhelms the footprints we see
On the Sand of Time: Antiquity to Modernity;
Ergo, Sheol is a gallery of unveiled
Geniuses, Perceptions, Sensations and Images.

Aye, dreams have been planted:
Ancient, Medieval and just as we speak.
All in harvest time will surely be,
Yet a few will depart with loads of grains;
Others, nothing to show. Not even a weed.

There isn't a thing here with fine sheen
But the rock lies in your within:
With believe and persistence drip by drip,
Soon, a runnel will around your acre besiege.