This isn't my poem, but I'm posting it anyway 'cause I like it.

A heap of broken images,
Where the sun beats,
And the dead tree gives no shelter,
The cricket no relief.
And the dry stone no sign of water,
Only there is a shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow in the morning striding behind you,
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you

I will show you fear, in a handful of dust.

-T.S.ELIOT
The Waste Land

Sorry about that, but Element ask for spiritual and I feel
like all my spiritual poems pale in comparison to the masters.
-Dream

Penned by my hand on the 25th of Chronos, in the year 242 AF.