I Dream of Sandcastles
Here is Versailles made of seashells and white sand
I mold the tower, round the sides until the imprint of my fingertips is gone.
I step back, no longer bothered by the sand between my toes.
Here is Versailles;
here is Schloss Neuschwanstein;
here is December made of seashells and white sand.
I hear the roar—
turn my face to the light;
I close my eyes
as the water strikes.
It does not pull me under.
It does not pull me under.
I turn back to Voergaard;
I turn back to the Citadel;
I turn back to December—
It pulled me under.
I kneel to mold the sand, to once more craft our tower—
I wake in the dark to my 6 a.m. alarm—
I must get up now.
I must get up now.
(This piece has been previously published on Teen Ink)
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Nice work
Very well written. Keep up the good work!
Top insight
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
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I like 👍