My Castle

The relentless waves and buckets of wet sand come endlessly under the moonlight. I barely hear the drone and it's soggy denseness covers me.

Walls are being built. Turrets sculpted. An impassable moat.

All night long, the waves just barely reach and touch the edges, driving the workers on, a vision of fear and power fuels their creativity, and their will is to be my strength.

A fluid muscularity that never sets or hardens immobile. A fortress to be built again and again.

When day breaks, the builders have gone. I only see the fruits of their labors. Impeccable work has been done, overnight, and the Castle stands, reflecting the sunrise into a billion rays off of a billion tiny grains of glass.

The walls are stoic and expressionless. Like the face of a well-trained soldier. And will give no comfort to my enemies.

But they won't always hold. All for my good. I want failure. For the men will build those broken walls stronger, and clear my ravaged castle clean the next night.

And the next, when they come with the waves and the sunset and the drone and the heaviness sends me to sleep.