People hold their sand in very different regard. Some grasp it so fiercely they would kill and eat friends to keep their grains from slipping away. While others would let it all fall, to save another’s glass from shattering.
Down in the water
at the bottom of the well
not one colour or sound is found
no joy just one soul resides alone
you are left to your own demons
If you can face them you will ascend
to see the surface sparkle
in the sun.
So blinkered to what’s set out
you have not one sliver of doubt
the imagination of a sheltered louse
you walk straight to the slaughter house.
Looking at your shattered time
I see your broken edges shine
Vulnerable yet still you fight
Every day with all your might.
Tired of feeding stock
Sick of crops with blight
Now the farmers harvest light.
We are formed of interstellar dust
In the shape of saggy bald apes.