[Soulstice]

He was born an emperor God - who could make diamonds from sand
not the type that shine in your hand, but the kind that command
A resonant calm. An audience ceasing their texting and calls
To see something vibrant and grand, & behold the depth of it all.

He lives as an atheist heretic - a Sisyphus counting the grains
for the powerful While he's chained up & bound in a slave ship.
An accountant by trade - ever since he drowned in the bay
Now all the beach can provide him is a misty, dour display.
He once whittled hours away - on the shore by dearest Poseidon
Where he built castles to show what he was feeling inside him ..
Now he's indentured to slavers on the same beach where he grew
Since he swapped a sense of creation for stained teeth and a roof

At twenty two, beneath the waning gibbous
He sculpted castles with a pain that lingered
In his straining fingers - from the weight of time
& an empty heart reconciling with an aching mind.
He takes his time as he beholds his final creation
He dreams of a youth of amazement as he lies by the basin
The passionate sunshine to his trite occupation
That kept his inner child alive and fine
& In the morning, he would rise and shine
but for now he'd just rest his eyes beside
the rising tide.