Scratches in the Sand

scratchesstretching out
towards the world
trying to capture
the endless bouquets
of beauty
and pain

scratching black and white words
and florid brushstrokes
on our canvasses
conjuring melodies
like raving magicians

all the while
knowing that they’re
mere clouds
blowing through
like transient guests
on vacation.

one day at sunset
only the merest scratch
in the sand
will remain

and even that will be
reclaimed by the great sea
at midnight.

just as we will be.

yet still we
stretch and scratch.

We are alive


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