I'm lost on this endless beach
just one desolate grain of sand
all alone in the masses
no more or no less
than the grains beside me.
I blend in
eclipsed by the majestic scene
I help to create.
Am I no more than a moment
falling through the glass
like the one that just fell by
forever lost to time?
Yet I noticed the falling
and was transformed by it
from what could be
to what once was.
And it has left me to wonder
how can my life
a life like the billions that came before me
and the billions that will come after
have a relevance
to the existence of humanity?
This contemplation erodes at my soul
for I can't find solace in being part of the whole
no matter how inspiring that whole may be
my love, my passion, my being
has to be more than that.
For inside me
there is both the best and worst of humanity
and I have tamed the worst
and strived each falling moment
to be the best me
I can be.
And if or no other reason than this
I deserve to be more
more than a desolate grain of sand
forever lost in time.
I should be the beach.
© Joey Jones 3/14
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(13 September 1916 – 23 November 1990)
(22 March 1941 -)
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