Written on the 18th of August 2010

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Sand Castles

I walked upon the snowy shore.

The sand was soft for bloodied feet.

I stooped and gathered, felt the grain

Fall a white and pure sheet.

My house shall be of this I said.

My palace glorious to stand

High and white and soft and clean

The glory of this pure white sand.

I gathered the grains from near and far.

I moulded them to my hand.

Brick by brick I built my home

Soft white upon a softer land.

At last my palace rose above

Grand and spacious in breadth and girth

So smooth the grain- no brick had cut

The wounded hands that gave it birth.

I trod within the terraced halls.

And looked with pride upon my own.

The soft white sand absorbed my pain

And made for it a home.

Beautiful palace, so soft and white

So tender on my feet

My hands were sore- but wounded more

Was the heart within that beat.

I feared the billows in the dark.

I fled in terror from the gale.

In desolation I stood and watched

The soft white sand assailed.

I acted with a frantic haste

I gathered the white clay in my hands

I packed it on the walls of waste

To barricade my house of sand.

The sea died and again I stood

And looked upon the sand

Alas the torn battlements!

The palace which stood so grand!

Large gaping holes in every wake

Left me open to the world

The walls were weak and now fell

At every stone they hurled.

In vain I lifted aching arms

Exposed upon the crest

The soft white sand beneath my feet

Yielded me no rest.

And then a Stranger came and spoke

His feet were bloody on the sand.

He was bleeding from his side and feet

And bleeding from his hands.

I've hewn for thee a home, He said

Among the rocks upon the hill

Thou mayest shelter there in peace

I bid thee come and there be still.

I stood in silence and dared not speak.

And dared not lift my eyes.

I saw the wounded feet and hands

And heard his voice again- surprised.

My feet are wearied of the task

Of hewing stone from stone

The rough boulders I have smoothed

With bloodied hands I made thy home.

Trust the One Who cares for thee

Enough to bear thy pain

Thy loss is no loss indeed

If My love in thy losing gain.

I saw He was no Stranger then

(Stranger to me, perhaps, for shame)

For I had heard Him near and far

And spoke Him oft' by name.

He knew me, as I knew not Him

He knew my pain and fear

In very tenderness He came.

His compassion drew Him near.

He took my hand in His and drew me over

The white soft sands and away

They fell beneath my shrinking feet

From pure white to clay.