A thing I do
Sifting through the sand watching grains fall,
tantalized by each one and imagining hearing them call.
Watching their loved ones get torn from their arms,
yelling obscenities as for fun it's sand I farm.
Looking for metal, glass, and other thrown trash,
perhaps even find for a coffee enough loose cash.
Those poor sand families getting torn apart,
my imagination cries, it does have a heart.
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Author:
Maplespal (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 29th, 2025 07:08
- Comment from author about the poem: A common thing a few have done in life.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
Imagination knows no bounds and with it one can rationalize almost anything. A fun write
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