Flip over the hourglass,
It’s empty and nothing more remains,
For it to give.
All the sand has slipped past
And it’s empty so lift it up and turn it upside down.
The sands drain away my voice,
And maybe the rustle of its grains, against the concave of the glass
Is something I can still hear in the darkness of the night:
Leading me on.
We see time slip by,
And we see our dreams die in sand storms- each grain an idea,
Thrown about by the sheer force of neglect.
It’s amusing how neglect isn’t noticeable
Until the cracks appear,
Until the bark crumbles and falls like dust and you see the termites quite clearly,
How do you describe,
Your fears and turbulence in the deathly glare
Of dying, sinking, drowning parts
One by one as the hourglass crumbles?
Do I give in to the world,
And in shackles remain grounded like the sand that settles slowly on my skin?
Well it’s time. It’s time to flip myself over.