Plight

his face is young
hands are old
the past is empty
blind and cold
allthe sweat on his back
grabs the dirt stains
his shirt
push all day
rest at night
do some hobbies
drink to forget
a ton of sand at my feet
each a speck
each speck all collecting
in a mass
pressure changing its shape
it's direction
its purpose
as the sea tears it away
from the land
more os pushed back
each different and separate
all has changed
nothing has changed
when the momentum stops
the machine will die
fr some reason we're not alone