Sand Poem by Michael McMahon

The sand...the sand slips through my hands.
And every day I feel the moisture of the sand.
Everything I touch,
and everything I feel,
goes through my palms-
as if they weren't real.

If the gems were too many,
and if I couldn't be steady,
then the mightiest of rocks,
and the strongest things of iron,
would turn into sand-
and fall through my hands.

The sand, it is on top of me.
It catches me so I cannot breath.
It buries me.

It is me, and it is what I see.
It is everything around me.
Because after all-
everything I touch,
turns into sand.

She was a crystal,
made me love like a missile.
But when she made me her man,
everything she was
turned into nothing but sand.

Love never loved me.
only the sand could withstand me.
Because only the sand,
could understand-
that tumultuous feeling.

I'd consume the world and turn it into sand.
And one day, just one day,
the sand that once went through my hands,
will consume me as well-
and bring me to a foreign land.