You're a child at the beach.
You grab a fistful of sand and run to mummy,
"Mummy! I caught sand!"
You open your hand and only a few grains remain.
You weep and daddy says,
"You can't keep the sand, it's slippery when wet."
You're dreaming and find a pot of treasure.
Grabbing a fistful, your grip is fierce
while you frantically wake yourself.
Open your hand to find only the dents of your fingernails -
precious gems slipped back into the night
from whence they came.
Someone gives answers to media questions.
The words slippery from his mouth.
You try to grab onto some truth,
but, if you're awake, there's none to be found.
He's surrounded by slippery ilk,
They nod in acquiescence.
"Slippery when wet" is lies mixed with spittle.
Mendacity is not a precious treasure,
it doesn't fade with time.
Slippery has no traction.
Either anchor self with truth,
or fall down that infamous slope
to a hellish fate.
©Ellen Pepper 2025
image credit: deviantart. com/chickenmeister
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