Speck Of Sand Poem by Avery Koplin

I am a mere speck of sand.

One fragment among the blind hum of time,
nothing is bent to fit,
nothing has yet been undone.
Everything is in motion without cause—
we, it seems,
are nothing more than
a shift of inertia,
too small to notice
and too meaningless to fail.

We pass through unobserved epochs,
gathering dust from places
where words don't dare to be spoken—
we do not exist,
and yet we are;
there is no form for us,
we are only the nothingness that curls
around forgotten moments.

At night, we scatter—
by morning we are still here,
folded again into nothing.
The earth turns without acknowledging us,
the sun rises without reaching,
we are moved by a hand
we can't see,
dropped by a mind
that will never recall our fall.

We wait, without waiting—
held in a stillness we can't touch,
the air thickens with the hum of things
that should have been but aren't,
and then—
a crack splits the horizon open,
the world exhales,
and something unfamiliar sinks deep—
Rain. Rain. Green. Not beige.
The ground is born anew (though had it ever actually been "born" to begin with?)