Life is like a beach of sand (among other things). It looks golden from a distance, but upon closer inspection, appears quite brown. The water runs through, gorging out channels, escaping into the sea. This is pain. It forms in trickles from small causes, builds up into hewing rivulets, which join into overwhelming floods, before tearing into the great thrash-basket, the sea of memory. www.geocities.com/odunford
Reason for writing:
Er... the human condition, I suppose.
Birth sign: Aries
You need to log in to edit this poem if it is yours.
View more poems by Dunford, Eoin OR Owen.