Sticks Scratching In The Sand
The lessons are there
boxed in letters and wind
symbols of flight
and might
and wandering lust
this weightless destiny
this excusable existence
each undistinguishable
from the next
we pride ourselves in time
on life
on the waves in which we crest
as we float on white caps
bellowing and bustling
and bursting at the seams
trying to define our energy
our needy cries
our searching pride
and we thud against the shores
ragged from long lost winds
purple in their demeaner
contagious in their assault
as we balance our importance
our presence vs yours
against a throbbing windstorm
rising up from riverbeds
and glistening streams
and darkened clouds
that splatter and froth
only to find you,
and the others,
hunched in exhaustion,
staggering in confusion,
naked to the touch,
wondering why each
body laid out on the shore
faceless and limp
resemble not him
or her
or even you or me
but all of us,
a battalion of sparring souls,
just sticks scratching in the sand.
Dumpster Fire Press 