The Sands

“Vastness”

The writing is in the sand

I have seen it

I have accepted it even

But I am longing to raze it

To dig and dredge till it is even

Until I have what I make my own

From the lips of one branded as unforgiven

In the sand lies this play

Where granules are titular characters that dictate

How and when in life I may dominate

But In the sands rest no time to contemplate

We are pushed to and fro by the wind’s mandate

In thousands rest my wages against this parlay

Inasmuch as fallen dominoes are seen by my every act’s sway

They are strewn together in their heap to display

For me, only Kismet’s foray

Like the sands

I am resolute in my disposition

Monolithic in staying the course

I am not in a hurry to upend my gait

When I respond to the honeyed words of self-destruction

There is no hesitation to pause

I have no need to breach the gate

Because I leak a desperation to bathe in its morose elation

The writing is in the sand

I have seen it

I have accepted it even

But I am longing to raze it

To dig and dredge till it is even

Until I have what I make my own

From the lips of one branded as unforgiven

There is a largesse to its feel

When you scoop it

It leaves a sense of its grating parsimony in your palm

The sand is, after all coarse vegetation

To those hypnotized by Gaia’s greenery

It is deservedly moribund

To those baptized by the deluge of its yellowish storms

It is graciously fecund

In perfect harmony

Lie the green and wild in its bosom

In undisturbed syzygy

Lay life and death and nothingness

Prone in its vase like the possum

A willing and very generous giver

Who takes with every bit of aggression and hatred when due

The sands are a constant reminder of permanence

They deliver an assurance of security

To anyone lost at sea with no ground

They say to the one who seeks

Cast your eyes to the shore to view anchorage provided only by the sands

A surety without secrecy or deceit

And boldfaced in its dependability

One that shouts

I am here whenever you look for me

For one who is stifled by his need to gratify himself

It is an unholy sword plunged into his own heart

He can be rescued from the dastardly hands of selfishness

Only by his own will

To stop the combustion of your soul

Make for yourself strength

Fight to whatever length

And bring it to the desired end

The writing is in the sand

I have seen it

I have accepted it even

But I am longing to raze it

To dig and dredge till it is even

Until I have what I make my own

From the lips of one branded as unforgiven