the need to hang on

wave upon wave, upon the shores
unto thousands of crystals
breaking on the moors of our cores
sifting us, from us, like filters
the shiny crystals we are; and cherish
the weak are bound to break and perish
for the rest withstand the heartaches in pain
like a shore after a million ridges, remain
and sometimes we survive the winters

the sun on whom shines in despair
above the helpless and the needy
the rays that ought to reach everywhere
draw the fairness for the greedy
for life and justice on this earth
are plain for the eyes of the just
to crowd a concourse in pursuit
and march onto the palace of the despots
who dim the sun and curl the ridges
and prodcue the world we all got