A Pile of Sand

It was night again
Just you, by yourself
And a pile of sand
That was once your heart,
Now residing in your hands.
So fine are the grains
Through your fingers they ran
Uncountable pieces,
Of the silty sand.
Most of it lost
To the strong blowing winds,
Landing wherever it may
Or back through the air again.
You sit without hope
Living with a heart, that was
Broken so often
It turned to dust
Neglected so much
It began to rust,
That still craved love
But knew only lust
It’s common sense
Replaced,
With a naïve trust.
So futile is a love
That can’t possibly fill
Much like a placebo
Pretending to be a pill
And loneliness?
An inevitable fate
Emptiness a flame.
Slowly burning to hate
Not for another but for yourself,
Afraid of the night
That alone time with yourself.
Those parades of tears
And your pile of sand
That was once your heart
Now residing in your hands
It blows in the wind
Through your fingers
And out of your hands,
Exactly how does one mend
A pile of sand?

J.A. Wine