Building Sandcastles Out of Ashes

By Henry Fisher


It started the morning after a bonfire,

When the ashes reminded you of sand.

The gray remains not quite granular,

And yet something to be formed


Using molds and small tools,

You began to fashion your kingdom.

Ramparts, moats, bartizans,

Turrets and machicolations.


Far smaller than any original,

And smaller than the competition.

Ash is not the same as sand,

But you think it is more refined.


It has marched through the flames,

To make this piece of art.

The sand merely runs its course,

In its place of wind and sea.


Your first display was ungrateful,

But they will see its glory.

You try again and again,

To bring this sui generis to their eye.


Your thoughts soon turn to the trees,

What if they were human?

Would they sit and scream,

As you molded the ashes of its cousin?


Using tools of the Earth’s blood,

You create abomination.

The trees silently ask you,

Have they not served their purpose?


To live and die and burn.

To live and die and burn.


You shake your head,

What a silly concern.



0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

By Jada Jinks | February 28, 2022 Moonlight dances across my fingertips I paint the sky shades of blue. There was never once a woman That could make me dance like you do. I want to bring you safety an

By Shianne Henion I am clay in your hands, the curl of the ocean, I am gravel and moss and peonies picked by those same nails that dug into soft white flesh- formed it into a creature of c u r i o s i