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I wade through a sandy ocean,
And each coarse grain I strike is the weight of a sea.
My breath labors from my breast and my eyes
Dry in the unending stretch of the dunes.
I feel the rhythmic pounding
of the sun on my burnt back,
It pushes against me like the moon
To the tides and I push back.
With each aching step the day is more persistent,
Even frantic against my thin resolve.
Why does he push so fiercely?
And then I fancy it, a howling inferno
Of gold as fatigued as I am.
It beats against me like it must,
And like me wants only
To bathe in that unending night,
If for only a moment.
I push back and walk on,
As I imagine this and empathize.
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About the Creator
Johnny O'Neill
I'm just a dabbler in words who likes to be heard.
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