Sandy

A Poem by featherstoflight

I’ve been making impressions in the sand

Wind blows; the memories go

I say, I’m stuck in my daydream

My mornings are mourning from the days before

Sun sets and I’m wet; left cold and damp again

My mind, my mind wont give me love

Give a little time to see how I could turn myself around

I’ve been building in the sand way to long

Give me land; give me land

I’ve been making impressions in the sand

Wind blows; the memory goes

Now I don’t really know; a knowing low

© 2013 featherstoflight

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Reviews

TLK

Sand -> memories, both shift and remain impermanent no matter how strictly you police them. (Reading opportunity: Sartre's NAUSEA. There's an excellent few pages on the impermanence of a memory... it is one of the best passages I read as a teen).

Nice wordplay with morning/mourning. I hope you try some prose poetry cuz I FLIP for that shizzle, sister.

There is a lyrical quality to the middle two lines (mind...myself around). There is a feeling of self-distraction here. A mind flitting between uncomfortable points, ungovernably critical.

The end of "a knowing low" is forced and unrealistic, but strikes a chord in me. When your mind is blown about and, in its sandy bits, manages to hurt you as it whips past, what it gives you IS artificial and ridiculous. So as well as being poetic, the phrase really makes sense in this context.

Playful yet dour -- like sour sweets, a successful combination.