Not to become
Icons of Hollywood
But to impress upon the inhabitants
Where the true source
Can be found
So I listen
I can close my eyes
On any day
And just listen
But I prefer the fog
It is easier
To imagine in darkness
To create a world of light
In my mind
A few grains of sand
Knocked loose by the breeze
Skitter down a miniature ravine
Knocking loose a few more
Along the way
All coming to rest
With so many other grains
Collected in a miniature valley
Slowly filling up
With grains of sand
Is the part of us
Which believes history
Is about the past
I sit in the dunes
Shrouded there too
By the tall dune grass
Where waves crash onto jagged rock
Foaming
Each breaker a crescendo
Of thunderous water
Pix to Words 