Putting things in place
that sand castle life
and I can see the waves
coming in,
but there is no time,
no escape from the life
of a beach dweller
on the edge
of the cosmic sea.
I hold hope
in my hands
like driftwood,
hoping it will bear me up
in the storm.
Take one piece,
find some fibrous vegetation
and lash another,
to another
and save us all.
Rain will come
and wash away
all our fortifications
and the wind
will score our names
off of our gravestones.
Still we rise
to face the day
in defiance,
so strange,
so touching,
so human.
What is it
inside us
that sparks divinity?
What evolutionary purpose
is our belief?
It doesn’t seem
to be caused
by religion,
more deeply seeded
than our culture
and our fear.
Why are we capable of awe?
Why can we stand against the storm?
Why can we look at the sky
and say “Let’s go up there.”
and get there
and want to go further?
Everything we have
is just sandcastles.
So finite,
so temporary,
so fragile.
Yet we stand
in the face of things
we don’t even comprehend,
as if we belong there,
as if it is our purpose.
Maybe it is.
-HG
