Timbuktu
What do you value? And what length would you go to preserve it?
Timbuktu
They say to you
Is where you should be heading
Gather your pouch
And fill it with salt
You’ll need it
To pay for your bedding.
But she was sure of this
Despite what she was told
She felt it in her heart
It was bold.
That Timbuktu
While it might be for you
It’s not where she wished to be heading.
They say the walls shimmer with gold
With jewels
That sparkle with the opulence
Of a King’s wedding.
But she’ll tell you this
She’ll tell you twice
She’ll even tell you thrice.
That jewels and gold
Low and behold
Hold no value
In her Kingdom
Of Becoming.
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B.S.Weaves
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I like the rhythm and echoes you are making, @bsweaves! I believe that poetry is a mechanism by which we compress information about truths, and the process of *squeezing the poem out* results in expansion of truths into different verses, gradients, and form.