Words Like Sand

With words

Gently
Being swept away
Like sands
Of the 
Beach
Rolling in
With
Every
Tidal wave
I find the permanence
Of people
To be much
The same
As
With words
Waxing
The wandering moon
Which in
Sunset 
Summers
Glowing red 
As searing iron
Casts the sparks
Of 
Lightning (bugs)
From the hot day
Being belted
And smithed 
By the man
On the moon
Who now has the
Shadows waltz
As street lights
Hiss by your window
Like the waves
By the
Cracking 
Sea;
Hissing
Sweet lullabies
And
Crooning
A somber
Tune
Of the fallibility
Of feeling
People
Scratch,
Etch,
Imprint
Their lives upon
Your very own
Soul
Like the clay
Hands
Of the 
Old man
Who knows too well
What all these
Fancy words
Truly mean 
(a poet's greatest fault).
Cracking creased lips
To tell you;
"Wary 
Be ye
O' traveler of this
Planet
For you'll find many
Splendors
To be held
By hands
Instead of them pictures
Just hanging on the wall
  But 
it costs more
Than just
Time 
And
Money"
If not know what I mean
Then just
  Look
Look into the mirror
And tell yourself
What it is that you see,
A face painted beautifully 
who has
Grand stories-
Adventures-
To amaze us all
But 
nobody to
Remember to
Recall;
Just a multitude of 
Faces
In those 
Far off
Wondrous
Places
That you'll never be able
To call your own
With their own words
That are being swept away
In the hinges
Of the alcoholic binges
And the slow dragging
Shackling
Sucks
Off a cigarette 
That now hold
The last 
Memories
Of friends faces
You've long since lost
To time's tidal wave
Crashing
Cracking
On craggy cliffs
That you surround yourself with
To make sure
The cigarette
 Doesn't 
  Get
   Any
    Longer.
This poem is about: 
Me
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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