The Last Laugh

Once was grass,
and moist, shadows,
where watchful trees
formed living shelter
from driving salt,
prowling sea fingers
caressed storm winds
when hopes grew.

page 25 Toys of time
marched out across
the springing life
in savage contentment
proud weapons ready.

Once was blood;
spear, musket, rocket,
in common graves;
footstep and green
forgotten, time heads
back to zero.

Once was thought,
and slowly sand ...
and slowly sand ...
and slowly, sand.

A W Peterson.