Wild Beach On wild beach a grave yard lie the fallen Solomons and Shebas, Desiccated drift wood, washed up, bleached dry, sprawled across tide lands, suffering the fury of wind borne sands. Your skin blasted off: grain by grain strikes, pits, grinds. Weevils make their home till sand swallows every stick. Once defiant giants: You sowed winds, harvested storms. At your height in whose glory did you delight? Massive boughs covered by shifting sand, broken skeletons now. You lie beneath tombs of sand, buried under dunes, human glory lost, praises gone. Twisted roots where swallows rest project like hands - your epitaph, domination laid waste.
A poem from Vocation as Resistance © Craig A. Roberts 2022. (paperback, ebook, audio book)
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