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.
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