Its Not The Same Sandbox


Remembered memories

of bucket-formed castles,

are pushed roughly aside

by harsh and gritty realities.

There is no child-like joy,

no playing gleefully-

For its not the same sandbox,

and not a friendly place to play.


Little boys once played,

with their plastic green ARMY men,

burried into creations

molded into combat zones-

Now, they are grown men,

toys are put aside long ago,

or maybe only recently,

for some are 'babies' yet.

Childish laughter

doesn't ring in the air.

Only the sounds of explosions,

as real ammunitions breathe fire.

They are now the ARMY-Men Soldiers

they once innocently toyed with.

All too real, THEY now embed the sand,

ensconsed in cumbersome 'battle rattle'.


They hate the sand now-

for it permeates their dwelling,

ingrains into their beings,

dries their throat and eyes.

What once was part

of happy childhood memories,

now only reminds,

of the horrors, the losses.


When they return home,

remove the sandboxes

from the backyards

and avoid the frolicking beaches.

For they will only serve

to remind them of that place.

A place of coarse, endless sand,

they'll long to forever, forget.

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