Sand

Sand

Limping to the next moment,

Only to scurry on towards oblivion.

Coughing up the carcinogens we breathe,

And they are everywhere, indeed,

And thus, frown upon monsters we cannot see,

Because we are choking, on phlegm and saliva,

And yet, we just don't know it, 

Or rather, aren't willing to acknowledge this hidden truth.

Sand dictates a measurement,

Of what, no one, not even a poet, can comprehend.

Slowly, each granule falls, and with each one,

A little boy arrives from Hilton Head Island in 1985

To the 21st Century a larger man, but more world-weary.

An old man sits on the edge of his world, smoking a pipe,

And all the while, never can see where life seems to traverse.

A little fly sat on his hand, and in his amusement,

He flicked it into Creation, to where only It could measure,

Never caring, never knowing that any second now,

A Titan could find it so desirous to use this insignificant piece of matter

As a marble to shoot in a little pick up game.

Ironic, then, how naive we are, 

As if one soul is all that exists in this endless sea.