Photo credit
mullet.deviantart.com
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
Sand…
3:21 PM
Vera Robinson © 2015
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