Weeds in Melting Sand

Roots bore into glass and found no running taps.
It cracked, and shards fell sweeping, in wide sheets,
like a living blanket that can only crumble, never warm.
The air was drowned in glimmer, poisonous to breathe,
relegated down and stamped beneath our feet just as
we see it as decor, clearly placed for we, who are
the superlative of being, though we cannot find
a softness in our seeking - a crevace that may house;
a rift of cozing doldrums that we may bleed between.
We age and we expand, driving through and forth
toward the soothing warmth, breaking every surface
that dared to hold our weight. And while we tend to forage,
and ruthlessly progress; our roots will never still,
our twigs will turn to fangs; our menagerie of truths
will soundlessly fall, while the thinning blocks of clarity
break and scatter far from these gardens made of nothing.

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SSmoothie's picture

now thtat was vert deep and i

now thtat was vert deep and i really had to think about the analogies and metaphors but my mind delights in possibilities so it is not easy to disapoint thus thoroughly impressed am i great write!

Don't let any one shake your dream stars from your eyes, lest your soul Come away with them! -SS    

"Well, it's love, but not as we know it."