Loss

there is an endless ocean crashing upon an immense shoreline
upon this line, there is no sand, no rocks, no land masses, only silent crashes
and with no sand... castles with wooden sticks for windows can no longer be built
and with no castles... great balconies of stones can no longer exist
and with no balconies... there are no passages to travel in between crafted crevices

there are plenty of empty buckets and shovels laying about here and there
all in an abundance of colors, bright yellows, brilliant blues, some with red sifters
they all feel the sunlight warming their bodies as they relax upon the unknown
they all feel the wind playing against their plastic rims and mildly rounded edges
they all feel the stars reflections when nightime closes it's eyes upon them

but most of all...
the buckets, the shovels, the sand sifters all know there is something amiss
even with an inconceivable consciousness of what exactly is missing

~Emily Loren Moss Ferrell
02/16/2010 7:15 pm est