Sandbox
The world is nothing but a sandbox,
each grain a fragment
by itself,
insignificant and hard to see.
The gathering of grains
each point a sand of time
flows fluid
blended into polished glass.
The shining reflections
bend the points of life
into each other
intertwined and bound.
The wind blows across the remains
picking up and carrying away
the memory
of single individuality.
The world is one, won
by the binding of the many
in harmony
returning to the sandbox.
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