I own the night, not yet morning.
The sands of time are slowly slipping
through my fingers.
The stillness of the morning straining
to take over the dark of the night
Change is brief, it has but a few
minutes to rule....
It drifts through in the winds of
time, moving fast the grains in my hand.
Which stays, which falls, each a
story to be told, a memory to hold.
I let the grains of sadness fall, the
sorrow falling by..
They drift along with time, tear
drops keeping pace
Of memories lost, bad, best forgotten.
A smile slowly curves the lips,
The fingers tighten with some grains still
intact.
Hold tight.
The good remains
Light.....
Dawn
owns me.
No comments:
Post a Comment