Poetry Thursday–We are made of the sand that slips through fingers (And Other Poems)

Hello, I’ve returned!

I have more poetry!  (Suprise! Ha.)  And it’s at an appropriate time today too.  How exciting!

I don’t have much to say about the poems again, but I do think they’re the sort that could be interpreted in many different ways, depending on who is reading.

Anyhoo, please enjoy the following literary entertainment.

 

Wait a Little Longer

I used to think exhaustion
Began in the eyes. When they
Drooped, it was time to sleep.

I realize after so many sleepless nights,
Exhaustion begins in the heart,
And ends in the mind.

 

The Ocean

I stepped into the ocean,
Only for a moment.

The waves lapped at my calves
with a puppy’s greeting.

I stared into the blue depths,
Reminded of the life it contained.

Here in the water, I felt—
At Home. At Peace.

At the end of the day,
Here was nothing left to do.

Only go back to my house.

I found myself comforted by knowing
That even if I didn’t come back tomorrow

The ocean would still be here.

 

We are Made of the Sand that Slips Through Fingers.

How can endings be
Filled with eye watering
Sorrow when they
Are immediately followed
By something brand new?
You can slam doors
And cry on shoulders,
But that won’t change
Time’s impatient chase.

We are made of the sand that slips through fingers.

 

A Failed Love Story

Sounds like a slow piece
Of classical music, gently
Playing sadness into beautiful chords
Powerful enough to comfort
Hearts that were given, then lost.

Build upon those sounds as you
Dry your bones and tears.
Failed love stories leave sad sounds
Trailing behind in wreaked hearts,
But the music will always
Play on.

 

Clay Syringe

Mold me.

I’m pushing clay through a syringe
Directly into my blood stream.
It’s moldable—I’ve become moldable.
This clay can be manipulated.

Adapted.

Into something it never planned on being,
Right after it was crushed and smushed.

This clay is now what I’m made of—
But be careful how you change me
Now that you are able to.
Eventually, clay dries out
And is stuck
The way it was last molded.

 

 

THANK you for reading my poetry.  I hope you enjoyed!  Please return next Thursday for more poetry, and also have a lovely day! 🙂

4 thoughts on “Poetry Thursday–We are made of the sand that slips through fingers (And Other Poems)

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