Sliding Sands

I make plans,
Golden and festive,
As I glance,
At the sliding sands in the Hour glass.



It falls a bit in and in…
...and in…
And time flies by.

This is not something that I can slow,
This is not something to which I want to bow,
I will run against the tide,
I will, still, give it a fight.

The particles glistening in light,
The particles drenched in tears,
The particles that hold,
My fears, untold.

I make plans,
In hope of the future,
That a moment will come,
When that particle will be mine,
My plans, will not be futile.

I hold onto those strands as mine,
As I glance,
At the sliding sands of time.


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