POEM 7: Destroying the Sand Castle

I had the time of my short life, watching sunshine

Breathe colors to my fair skin, the sea turtles, perfect palmettos

Let grains of sand glisten like a seamless field of sequins by the sea

The manchild that I was dove headfirst to the scorching sand

And let my hands bleed the colors of my mind, as has been taught by time

In the space of a sunny afternoon, the beach morphed into a powerful city

Of handmade forts, proud watchtowers, opulence, pretense

And mere sand, meant to be stepped on, to fade and to be forgotten

Turned into a castle, towering enough, supreme, immaculate

Yet in all its glory, no one wondered beyond the thinning walls

Or observed the blue and white strokes of cumulus to whom all belong

Until the next thing I saw above with dreamy-turned-sun-bleached eyes

Was a brewing storm, tentacles of virga marching through thin air

But I, the young King, cared more for my Kingdom than I did for the rain

When the piercing raindrops from the storm marched ashore

They landed violently with dins, rings, thundering applause

Each drop berated the new color of my eye, the crookedness of my teeth

Scorned me for how the sun scorched my rose-colored skin

Then when the high winds came, heavy breaths flattened silence like downbursts

In chorus, whistled and sang symphonies of judgment and life sentences

Like how my elbows looked like flattened truck tires in thick mud

How my forehead was a planet's surface of meteor craters and asteroid impacts

How my once-bulky body exposed its bare ribs, its receding gums, its regression

How my backbone curved, hid in shame, when it was just the way I am

At the backdrop of the dancing leaves, quick gusts, unrelenting rain

Played the masterful orchestra of thunder, of rogue waves, of harsh words

Once spoken but never forgotten. I closed my eyes and mustered my strength

Bent on my back to shield my kingdom from the furious sky

And let the storm stab me in the chest with a storm of spark-shaped knives

Then the waves marched ashore, going closer, closer, closer still

Before crashing into my sand castle, desperate, deluded, denuded

I had the time of my short life, watching thunderstorms

Wound my fair skin, silence the field of sand by the sea

The manchild that I was was a manchild no more

And my hands, chest, the body once baptized innocent by the same sky

In the space of a stormy afternoon flattened into a page in history

Of calloused fingers, balded palmettos, stench, disgrace

And the castle, once towering, turned into mere sand, meant to be stepped on, to fade, and to be forgotten

Below the warzone, the storm ends, where once stood proudly my sand castle and me

But it continued inland, still roaring, to the places and the people I wanted to be

Written 19th December, 2021.

Poem copyright © 2021 by Peter Ryuken B. Hermosura, “Destroying the Sand Castle”

Author's Annotations

This is my most personal poem to date. An autobiographical poem, this is a storm of harsh words, insecurities, and devastating experiences during a prolonged period of anxiety I experienced in 2019 and 2020. Admittedly, this is the hardest poem to write, thus far, in my entire poem portfolio. This poem also portrays my extensive physical insecurities, traumatic experiences with being helpless during those difficult moments, and the episode's far-reaching effects to how I see life now, with the help of thunderstorm and sand castle symbolisms.