The grain of sand sits alone on the beach
Companionship, for him, is out of reach
He strives for meaning and purpose in life
Yet amid the crowd finds a lonely strife
Alone yet surrounded by those just like him
His hopes keep growing ever more dim
He finds no solace from those around
And every word spoken seems to be drowned
Perhaps he'd be chosen and turned to glass
Yet nothing he becomes would ever last
And nothing he'd do would have an impact
Such selection is random as a matter of fact
The grain is a grain and ever will he be
Bemoaning his plight whenever this he sees
Longing for more and to be unique
Has no source of comfort--forever a freak
Created from nothing to be nothing alone
Yet feels nothing with others whom he's outgrown
Forever contentious as he seeks his worth
Pondering why for his baseless birth
No one around brings him any ease
They simply do as each one of them pleases
No care, concern, for who or what they are
They live and die--never a star
Meaningless, foolish, they live out each day
Unaware they're nothing on the beach they lay
Aspiring not to be anything more
They're daily walked on as nature's floor
He ponders serenity in such an ignorant grip
Poisonous wastefulness drips off thier lip
A focus on things that shall not last
The mundane, the worthless, is truly vast
But no, not for him, he'll do his best
He beats at the wind, he beats at his breasts
Fights the good fight and won't be a tool
Nor a resting ground for a dumb creature's stool
Never content to be just a grain
He presses on again and again
Hoping one day for an open door
Yet he dies one day never anything more
The moral is hard and entirely gray
Does one even choose how to live each day?
We're all a product of how we're made
Even those striving whose lives they've paid
Some will succeed though mayhap by chance
Others will die while others will dance
The waste is on those who's never so joyed
Yet success lends reason for efforts employed
The grain could not change at all how he felt
For just like the others, his cards were dealt
Some are quite glad to live and to die
While others must wonder, to suffer, to try
Companionship, for him, is out of reach
He strives for meaning and purpose in life
Yet amid the crowd finds a lonely strife
Alone yet surrounded by those just like him
His hopes keep growing ever more dim
He finds no solace from those around
And every word spoken seems to be drowned
Perhaps he'd be chosen and turned to glass
Yet nothing he becomes would ever last
And nothing he'd do would have an impact
Such selection is random as a matter of fact
The grain is a grain and ever will he be
Bemoaning his plight whenever this he sees
Longing for more and to be unique
Has no source of comfort--forever a freak
Created from nothing to be nothing alone
Yet feels nothing with others whom he's outgrown
Forever contentious as he seeks his worth
Pondering why for his baseless birth
No one around brings him any ease
They simply do as each one of them pleases
No care, concern, for who or what they are
They live and die--never a star
Meaningless, foolish, they live out each day
Unaware they're nothing on the beach they lay
Aspiring not to be anything more
They're daily walked on as nature's floor
He ponders serenity in such an ignorant grip
Poisonous wastefulness drips off thier lip
A focus on things that shall not last
The mundane, the worthless, is truly vast
But no, not for him, he'll do his best
He beats at the wind, he beats at his breasts
Fights the good fight and won't be a tool
Nor a resting ground for a dumb creature's stool
Never content to be just a grain
He presses on again and again
Hoping one day for an open door
Yet he dies one day never anything more
The moral is hard and entirely gray
Does one even choose how to live each day?
We're all a product of how we're made
Even those striving whose lives they've paid
Some will succeed though mayhap by chance
Others will die while others will dance
The waste is on those who's never so joyed
Yet success lends reason for efforts employed
The grain could not change at all how he felt
For just like the others, his cards were dealt
Some are quite glad to live and to die
While others must wonder, to suffer, to try
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