Time In the Sand

Time as granular as the sand, on every beachfront popsicle stand, Shaken off by a mid summer breeze, to carry on the wind of the seas. To be left on some distant shore, forgotten in a sense, but evermore, to be carried once again, driven to soar. As a bird to a wind and a moth to a flame, we float through life searching for the game, Defined as insanity, expecting the same, strive and hope to make a change. Ragged and worn, a man strolls towards the end, But refuse to let go, even when it is the time, painstruck and gripped with fright, he cant, He wont give up the fight.