Thursday, 7 December 2017

Sand



I grasp at the sand as it spills through my fingers, spilling itself on itself.

The grains are innumerable but desperate I count them, single grain after grain, this til my voice rasps with the burden, the burden of counting, the terrible aching, the aching of hoping, and the forlornness of hope...

Shifting and penetrable, the violence is sudden, the wind in its rushing, and taken I am and moulded to nature, thus I become.

There is grit in my teeth in the aching of waiting and tired of it all, I gently succumb.

Anna :o]

Victoria at dVerse has us writing a symbolic poem and above is my offering.  Cheers Victoria

I’m really not quite sure if my words are symbolism or metaphor….


Image:  Courtesy of Pixabay.

15 comments:

Victoria said...

Powerful symbol which I felt having lived in or spent time in deserts much of my life. Sand storms can be scary and quite destructive. Glad you are here, Anna.

X said...

Well. Your day sounds a bit like mine. So hard to hold the sand. It just slides on itself and slips between your fingers. Counting is so futile too. The wind catching it and its away from you bedore you can even think to do anything with it.

Sabio Lantz said...

Ouch! An ouch well written.

Frank Hubeny said...

Nice use of the wind against sand which it easily shifts.

Grace said...

Sands are powerful symbols, for me, of time and a force more powerful than us ~ Love this part: burden of counting, the terrible aching, the aching of hoping, and the forlornness of hope...

Cedar Wind said...

Enjoyed reading this...the symbolism felt clear and meaningful.

The Bizza said...

Elusive, coarse, and biting when whipped into a frenzy by the wind... vivid symbolism here.

Kim Russell said...

I enjoyed the symbolism of this, Anna. Sand is fickle: it can look beautiful; it can shift comfortably under our feet or make us stumble; it can be wet and cold on a beach or burning hot in a desert; and you can't count its grains. And then there's the sand clock or hour glass, trickling away our time.I love the last line - that feeling of futility!

Jane Dougherty said...

The sands of time isn't an empty expression, it evokes so much, like your sand and the grit in the mouth. We weren't meant to live in a desert.

Vivian Zems said...

Anna! I love the symbolism in this. The utter futility in waiting and hoping comes through- loud and clear. Bravo!

annell said...

I loved your piece, and sometimes I don't know either?

telltaletherapy said...

your uncertainty raises a grain on the difference between the two but I think you have comprised both in this gritty piece of writing

Kathy Reed said...

Sand sifted through finger or an hourglass always is a good metaphor or symbol of time passing and our relationship with infintite possibilities. It boggles the mind and you capture its elements so eell jere, Ana.

brudberg said...

Sand is such a wonderful symbol of time, it could be an hourglass or the relentless breaking down of rocks..

sackerson said...

I liked the grit in the teeth: it nicely accentuates the hopelessness of counting the grains. It reminded me of something I often think about, too - namely, when is a thing a thing? Is a rock sat on the ground part of the earth, even though it is separate from it? How connected do two things have to be to be considered one thing? The way we describe things with language is really quite inaccurate.