Sand Through My Fingers

My mind is not transparent

Unlike the still evening under the hot summer sun of South Carolina

I'm thinking of your smile

In the image of an ice cold glass of water

You look at me as if I'm an angel

Despite my body falling away day by day

Like the pile building in the ashtray by the door

The ocean sits still somewhere far away

But my mind is never settled,
In a dark room where truth hides
I see a light creeping through the blinds
A tiny bird lands on the windowsill 

They say, "The eyes are the windows to the Soul"

Well these are locked up tight

The bird flies away

And the evening slips into night

Author's Note

Babies have tiny organs, literally everything is bad for you these days, we all see what's wrong but nobody does anything about it. I don't know what I'm saying or why this matters but this makes no sense to me. Here's a poem anyways.

Reviews

[Hitchhiker]

I quite understand the need for your poem after reading your "Author's Notes." You are absolutely correct, the world if going to hell in a hand-basket (overused expression, I know.), and everybody seems to be kow-towing to the perpetrators of the most heinous of crimes. I am not anxious for the future.

[Gabby Nieves]

And neither am I

[Allelujah]

Great INk I can feel the sorrow reading this but it's still a great poem

[Gabby Nieves]

thank you c:

[George Peck]

Your poem is great as always. A great mind needs to ramble about what it thinks important. Usually the rambles are right even if you don't understand why its important just know it is and you'll be fine. besides you have to just share it with everyone around. If they don't like it to bad tell don't read it.

[Gabby Nieves]

haha you're right, thank you