Quicksand Anxiety

The sun spilled on the sand pit, golden glow,

I stood at the edge, too young to know.

Childhood fears in shadows and pools,

The ground felt alive, playing tricks like fools.

“Step back,” the whispers said, “you’ll drown,

In quicksand dreams where the world turns brown.”

But the truth of the earth held me firm,

Nothing like fear, just a soft, warm term.

Yet, in photos it lingers, that shimmering fright,

A spark in the memory, haunting the night.