I'm a grain of sand,
Beneath the soles of a prophet,
In the desert of time,
Insignificant, yet...infinite.

Lost,
Time flowing smoothly,
Unstoppable, a force to reckon,
The sun pounding the prophet's back.

I am the book,
Hidden in his satchel,
That tells him to just,
Take another step.

Parched lips speak prayers,
Ignorant in my ears.
Beams shone upon him,
He is enlightened.

To speak to God.
How mighty it must be.