A blue container of time,
is measured with
grains of sand, like silk
so fine
ticking away.
What’s left to say?
Steadily going,
never slowing
counting down
is the fate that it’s bound.
Ticking away.
What’s left to say?
The clear walls muffling
the grains of sand stumbling
making tiny “piffs” against the sand.
Ticking away.
What’s left to say?