SANDBOX

SANDBOX

The words he wrote kept disappearing

 Into that document that grew

  The more he wrote, the more the fearing

   That the longer he kept peering

    The flow of them became too few

His hands kept frantically raging

 Across the keyboard in attempt

  To keep up with his own aging

   And that knowledge was so aching

    It filled him with utmost contempt

So he imagined back his childhood

 And turned the words into soft sand

  Sentences sand castles of feel-good

   His sandbox purely made of plywood,

    Pleasure returned to his dreamland.

***

poem by Darren White
October 6, 2016