Once mountains or cliffs
Or washed up from the mighty ocean's floor
Swept by river and wind
The sands of time drift away
The tides engulf soft dusty sand
White and fine
The carpet of paradise beaches
Frothy with the blue foam wave
Coarse speckles pouring
From children's hands
From shovels
Into buckets
The sand damp for the perfect castle walls
Spilling form the play box
Dunes under the sunset
Taken by the desert wind
Swept into sweeping clouds
Of dry harsh sand
Patterns ever-flowing
Like a snake weaving its path
Colorful sand
Fills old glass pop bottles
Simple childish décor
Lining the shelves
Damp gritty tan blankets
Touched with patches
Of the greenest grass
Form the sandy hills
Of the remote shorelines
Stuck in the cracks of
Driftwood piles
Or the toes of tourists
Brown crunching sand
Seen beneath the current
Brought to the rocks
On the banks
By passing animals
Yet never moved by the
Clear water's rippling pace
In the grand forest river
The smoothest sand
Trickling down
Making ripples in the gathering mountain
Of the bottom
Of the hour glass
Silently ticking
Until tipped
To begin again
The countdown until
Time is up