Everything I touch, even in loving kindness…
To dust it turns. Never to be in original form again.
The devastation too great, melancholy relentless.
There is a certain truth in “Ignorance is Bliss”.
I gasp, I tremble, I undoubtedly cry.
Trying dauntlessly to prevent this sand…
From slipping through my fingers. Holding tight.
There is no holding it, it seeps through my grasp.
I stare longingly at that sandy floor.
Collecting all the broken, to put it back in place.
However, this devil in me, an old friend for sure,
Allows me not. For the devil enjoys this relentless pain.
© bipolormuse 2012