Posts Tagged ‘sand’

If a minute were longer then so,

long enough to wonder

if my decisions will be transparent

or if they will last and people will know.

And long enough to wander

through the dark streets at dawn,

through the narrow streets accompanied

by a body of yellow fog,

and walk until the morning yawns into existence,

and then proceed through the halls I have come to know,

but with each step

I continue to grow, as all people do,

in that unseen way.

 

And who am I to leave something

more than ephemeral

on an otherwise simple scene, on an otherwise

simple day? Is it right

for me to ask for a bit of permanence,

to ask for more than a footprint

in the snow or in the sand?

Is it right for me to deny something grand?

Is it right for me to ask

for nothing more than the seemingly infinite warmth

in the clasp of a hand?

For, in a minute, what I announce

will be read, forgotten,

or- perhaps- renounced.

 

Quiet whip-like sounds

drift across the plain landscape

decorated with spare grasses

which would gleam, if the sun were shining,

but now a shadowless amber thundercloud

has descended upon

what small barns and houses

litter the yellow scope of flatland.

The sound that approaches

is arid, vast, and unforgiving.

It will rip the small buildings from their worth,

it will uproot anything that is not tied

with the root of providence.

This desert cloud will surge to remove

what fruits of labor men and women have grown

to provide, and to grow wealth.

This storm separates bills

from hearts, but

nonetheless,

blesses with suffering.