Sand
Hanged by the bullet, by the rope i am loaded into the gun -
I walk the path through the dunes -
Sand which will fill a millenium to the hour -
Seconds to the flame -
Burns dust into glass -
What once was, underneath my feet -
Now becomes the vessel of motion -
The carrier of liquid, sometimes the taste of wine -
The thirst by a cup, perfectly molded -
To quence my lips, timed by times -
So nothing from a desert, valued by some as nothing, produce value -
That is something.
poem by Unic Cjonr
Added by Poetry Lover
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