The grains of sand which gently fell,
Have bloated to boulders, 
Slowly tumbling
Until they reach a cliff
Where they plumit to the water,
Sending shockwaves through time,
Leaving dosolate minds
To rot under the scorching sun
Among the remnants of
A deserted ocean.

And I lie here,
Amongst the remnants
Of a dying passion...

And I lie here,
The remnants of a
Withered rose?

Should I lie here,
As we die,
Alone?