Photo credit

Photo credit

Upon my exhausted arrival, to this marooned island

To my utter amazement, there he stood

A man of sand. He spoke to me in whispers and welcomed me

To this land. I smiled, and shook his gritty hand

His fingers were pebbles, and rough as could be

I pondered the question, just how could this be

That he could live here

A man in the form of sand

I asked “How are you living, made of sand?”

He look at me strangely, as if should know

Then shuffled his feet, as the wind begin to blow

I’m out of the sea; is how I form to be

There are many others like me, as you will come to see

We were all deserted on this island

But our souls are now free

For many hours we talked, until the darkness came

The waves were crashing, it was a beautiful night

He started to sing, til the wind silenced him

I looked to my right; then to the left

There was nothing… just

A pile of red


3:21 PM

Vera Robinson © 2015