Grains of Sand
From atop the bridge the sun dazzles over the ocean
Throngs of people promenade on the pier to get in their quota of fun
Busy like ants, is there room for deep relaxation
On this hot California Sunday?
Obfuscated by the oppressive heat...
I made my way to the beach bellow
The over populated site, interrupted my a make-shift cemetery
Without respite under the brutal sun... a man hammers
Yet another white cross into the sand
Representative of each American soldier recently lost in Iraq
Thus far 4,155
I stop at the kiosk to pay my respects, and to see the pictures of those now gone
Smiling young men and women, their life cut short without even starting the race
I am surprised that row, upon row, I come upon pictures of Latinas
I imagine glossy hair incinerated into ashes, silky skin, orbs and hopes charred to a crisp
I turn towards the ocean and see people grilling their carne asada -- so carefree
Their robust forms oiled and tanning like on a barbecue pit
Their backs and callous feet turned away from the grisly sight
Just five feet away, and of the stark reality of war... elsewhere
It seems that life goes on as usual for everyone else
Yet for the mother making tamales this Christmas Day
A hot tear and a sob will escape, when facing the conspicuously empty chair
I wonder if people would awaken from the stupor if that very moment...
A dark cloud were to eclipse the brilliance of the sun
Then the ocean were to rise, and take the form of a colossal sea monster
Would I run to save myself, or would I stop to help an invalid or old man?
Why risk myself, when everyone is off to save their neck?
Only to find out there is no running from one self
And that one remembers God just then
The monster would swallow in its bottomless pit
Whole crowds as if mere grains of sand
It would come upon me and ask "Why should you be spared?
Have you also wasted your life without purpose
Your days drifted into naught, like sand through and hour glass?"
.
