Crushed Sand
(This poem won the QS&C P.O.E.T. award for the month of September, 1999)
Savage sounds slashing the air,
Chaos of cause and effect,
Intimidating eyes glaring,
Harassing hands gesturing,
Overriding all dignity,
Stripping me of logic and love,
Incomprehensible anger,
Like a manic-depressive crisis;
Like storm waves lashing a shoreline.
But, like rolling sand under the wave,
I resist the onslaught,
Letting it slide unchanging over me,
Just moving a little, turning a little,
Till the storm passes, and all is still.
The weather around you is changeable,
Unpredictable, frightful with thunder.
As sand, I could survive a while,
But each roll exposes another
Facet of me to your grinding,
Relentless ripping away of value
Until all that I am is destroyed.
What use is a characterless
Grain of sand? What use will I be to you
When I have been ground to powder?
Why do you need to thunder?