Sacred Truth (a poem)

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Do not insult the land.
Out of that dirt
people are formed.
Back to the dust
they shall return.
The ground
one calls excrement
is sacred.
Upon it
divine image bearers
trod
clothed 
in beautiful hues,
a heavenly art.
Children are nourished
from the fruit
of its soil.
Love blossoms
on its streets.
Eternity dances
within each heart.
No matter how vile,
words spoken from
hateful
temporal lips
can never change
the truth
of the land’s
enduring presence
and
her people’s
everlasting abundance.
  — bshivers 

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