Sand castles fell at dusk
during the suns stifled yawn;
here amongst the ruins we trudge
speaking in silence since words
no longer carry meaning.
The frigid wind whistles
its tune pressing against us
as boots scrape the last grains
of our spirit into the receding ebbtide.
Flames consume the sky,
evanescing as smoke rises
to dance over the ashes;
even the sun must crumble
before it can rise again.
Author notes
SupremeDreamer - Lee
A contest entry
- Best Prewrites. by Simone Brooklyn.
700 points, ended January 18, 65 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Give it to me dirty and cruel baby.
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