THIS SAND THAT FILLS ME
John Campbell
This sand that fills my head, it’s chased by my will, only to be caught in my bed, trickling from my eyes, ears, and nose, only to reinvent itself each day in ways which no spoken knowledge can truly know. And when in fact it finds its way back, it scurries and scatters where it can’t be trapped. I search for my sand to mold and work, but once I finally clasp this ungraspable wrath, I will not to understand its worthless worth. Glass now sealed on my mind’s thrown, its pros and cons reaming unknown, for glass more dense than sand ‘tis true, but can glass hold my mind’s sanity as unbreakable glue, whilst condensing these mounds of flowing bits? Its weight now plunging ever harder, further reducing what’s left of my waning wits to finally crush what’s left of a child-like bliss.
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