Harmony

I'm on a trip in Iceland and this is the first of a trilogy written about the places I visit. This one is about the West Fjords.

The soft sand drips between my fingers
flowing like a river
glimmering in the late night sun
sparkling with hope

There isn't a house for miles
no person to disturb this thought, this sacred moment
wind carries the last black grains from my fingertips
drifting away slowly, like humanity from this beauty

While civilization moves away
nature takes what's rightfully hers
changing metal into mountains
concrete into sand

But this isn't sweet success,
there is no harmony