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sandra wyllie
Poems
Apr 14
Sand in a Sieve
falling through square holes,
a rain shower of brown.
Sifting through/seeing it pour down.
Looking for the golden
nugget. But all I'm collecting
are rocks in my purple bucket.
Grey stones bouncing in a circle
plastic mesh, as the sun is whistling
hot, burning out my flesh.
Waves crashing to the shore,
like a stoner strung on ****.
All this for not!
I exhale on my next
breath.
Written by
sandra wyllie
56/F
(56/F)
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