Shadowing The Genuine Poem by Sonny Rainshine

Sometimes it seems that most of our living,
our experience, is about sifting through
acres of insincerity, inauthenticity,
mounds—no mountains—of rhinestones
and fools’ gold, yards of burlap
and synthetic fibers,
just in the hopes of finding one or two
genuine articles to clutch onto
and trust.

As fluid as mountain run-off,
thrusting toward the valley
at spring thaw;
as elusive as the rare puma
stalking in the arroyos
like a phantom who’s lost his way:
What is real, what is of value,
lies so near and so ever-present
that it sometimes takes a lifetime
to realize that it
has always been there.