X marks the spot

 I have read the map of your soul.
I have searched for the clues in your key.
The compass I use , for true north I can not see.
Weary wanderer that I am.  
Traveling through jungles of confusion
and crucible desserts in search of you.


Your treasure is what I seek.
Your war chest bursts, full of booty.
But it is hidden, tucked away
in a safe place known only to you,
Waiting to be discovered.


I know not what your outward appearance is.
It may be sandy and weather beaten.
Years of toil marked on your clasps.
Scratches on your casing.
Hinges dinged with use.  
I know only that  I see the treasure within.


The element of gold is what I behold in you.
The workmanship of malleable hands, strong and gentle.
Jewels, too. Bright diamonds, rubies, emeralds, topaz.
Making the eyes shine at their shimmer.
And Pearls,  white and  black dot the different layers of your being.
medium pinks and yellows wait to be discovered deep inside.


scattered among them, the corals of pink, green, and blueish white.
All that make you the treasure you are.