Sorting the sandA Poem by Jon Roggie
Each grain is different,
hiding their own story. This one? It made a widow cry. Drifting in the wind, and made contact. Added some sincerity to an emotionless scene. Each has a story. That one? Less fortunate. Led to some scratching, and not in culturally accepted places. The host noticed, and was not amused. I hold a hand of sand. Each grain blows in the wind. All have a story. Living in a desert, I am surrounded by tales, waiting to be heard. All eternal, all prisoner of the wind.
© 2018 Jon Roggie |
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Added on November 12, 2018 Last Updated on November 12, 2018 AuthorJon RoggiePorterville, CAAboutI tend to ramble, and rarely explain myself. Take that as you will more..Writing
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