Thursday, December 14, 2017

Blowing Sand

Once I lived 
in a world of
solid rock.
Blocks of rock
formed the borders
of my world,
square rocks,
round rocks,
rough rocks,
smooth rocks.
Domes of rock and thrones of rock,
limestone, sandstone,
granite and basalt –
rocks formed 
the centre 
of my world – 
centre, edges, all around
was rock,
bed-rock, solid rock, trusty rock:
you can depend on rock.
It’s good stuff!

Once I lived
in a world of
green –
of green and
brown and
flowery hues.
Grasses and bushes filled my world, 
reeds and flowers,
and tall leafed 
lavender spikes
bright red sprouts;
deep rich 
soil with
worms and mites;
lush green life
set firmly 
on earth,
growing, dying
decaying, nurturing,
cycle of life, 
set firm 
in the deep
You can trust in 
It’s good stuff!

Now I live
in a world of
trickling sand,
blowing sand,
rocks eroded,
blocks all gone.
Sandstone crumbles
at a touch,
granite shatters
at a glance,
limestone leaches, 
basalt breaks
and all that
is left is
blowing sand.
Plants cannot grow 
on blowing sand;
I cannot stand
on blowing sand.
All that is solid,
all that is sure,
blows in the sunset,
blows in the air;
Can you depend on sand?
Is this good stuff?

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