two handfuls of sand
fiction
Edward w Pritchard
Put your faith in anything and you end up with two handfuls of sand sifting through your fingers.
Friend or foe your affection will be misplaced as at last alone in your dreams you strain your understanding to decipher what has occurred as age and circumstance drip by drip lay the burden of wisdom on your stooping shoulders.
Jesus, saints and heroes leave first unable to stand the scrutiny of time and maturation.
Beautiful children fade becoming part of the census of humanity racing into the future struggling to leave a fingerprint on the cave wall of a forgotten clan.
Loved ones, strangers; unapproachable, mysterious, guarded, untouchable, rust out of use, out of sight.
Your self is gone. A racing red junked bicycle rolling backwards through misty school yards of vanished childhood.
Light as a feather your heart floats skyward forgiving yourself sins and carnalities but your soul lays heavy on your stomach.
Two million years of human evolution deposited you here.
Hour by hour the clock ticks but the calendar never changes and each day is the same.
Invisible birds chirp breaking dawn. Hundreds of industrious squirrels store up for frigid winter
What's it all about and where is the significance?
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