Thirty: Lots and Lots (A Poem)

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I dip my fingers into feelings like grains of sand,

I close my eyes over what I don't understand.

Tilting my head slightly, I hear the sound

Of my insides swirling around

Coiling senses send their messages

And the time stands still, I think

What of tomorrow?
Who will comfort me in what I don't know?

If I understood it, then I may
Or may not explain to you,
But for now, I do
Not.
I don't.

I dip my fingers into feelings like grains of sand,

I close my eyes over what I don't understand.

Take a picture, it'll last longer.

But it doesn't feel like remedy.