Sandstorms

One believes in beauty of dice, the other in conscious act of creation
whichever shore I stand, freaking other looks a perfect illusion

conviction in either erode as scheme pattern irony make a crisp gestalt
when the humblest and the earnest bend down to the tragedies of lie and fault

thoughts lie down stranded and stare me in face,
eyes pleading for higher scheme to this maze,
but when..and then I go aghast
sandstorms in time altering the scapes of my past