Poem: Sand Isn’t Water

I closed my eyes, restless, unable to sleep.
I kept them closed because that is what humans do.
All I wanted to do was open my eyes, rub them 
raw with my pointy fingers and think of better times.

My eyelids settled and I had no idea what 
kind of dream I'd have until my body was in it.
The sand was thick and coarse, and my arms struggled
to make progressive movement toward the finish line,
but I kept swimming in between the railroad tracks,
going somewhere not known.

I knew the trains were no longer traveling, so there was 
no danger, and I knew the way to the end was somewhere, 
out there, and wished I was there already. 
The sweat on my forehead never left, it kept reproducing 
after my hand wiped it off, and there was nothing to keep 
the sand from surrounding me fully.

The path might be the wrong one, eyes open or not,
but the resistance to the obstacle is for others.
I am not a robot, and it doesn't affect me the same way.
My ears are closed to the noise.

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