Handful of Sand

I reached, grabbed for a fistful of sand wistfully laughing, gracefully careless grains are she but longing more only left them drifting from hand Her effortless sway of heartless disdain sleighs me The hopelessness that goes with this.... ...is rivaled by its own bitter bliss for every pain endured may persist, but surely cured with that venomous kiss Never is passion all woe and despair Desire is reward in its own sweet self For to live is to feel, knowing feelings are there so wanting and having is the essence of wealth Embracing the sand, held gently cupped hands learning to grasp not, forgoing tight grip Fate is just that what time will demand These grains, even if slowly, still slip.