Is it really time?
The hourglass has runout
The container has cracked
The sand rushes out like waves
Only to settle for evermore

No waves will disturb
No wind will move
No feet will trod
On these pure white grains

Time and again
It rushed through the neck
Again, with time
It was turned

Yearly the civil war was fought
On who could get through quicker
But now the peace…
the silence reigns

Is this what we wanted?

No more shall we sit together
And watch the rushing sand
Contained within this precious glass

No more will we sit together
And share a meal
While the time runs out

The time has run out

We’ve put this broken hourglass
on the back of the shelf
Not wanting to throw it away
But not wanting to see it

The time has run out
And the time we’ll spend together
Is slipping through our fingers

Time is slipping
Like sand is slipping
Like life is slipping by

These rooms will miss our laughter, I hope
These beds will miss our warmth
These waves will miss our sunkissed bodies
This balcony will miss our wandering words

And I’ll be missing y’all

Our skin is growing wrinkled
The kids are growing old
The stars are shining brightly
The night has become cold

The sand sticks to everything
No matter how hard we try to keep it off
Like I hope our love sticks
No matter where we are

Swipe

Swipe

I’m bored

Swipe

Swipe

Stuck

In a cycle

That I can’t

escape

Swipe

I’m programmed

Now To want

That instant

gratification

Swipe

That comes

From a

30 second clip

About nothing

In particular

Swipe

Swipe

Swipe

…
———
I miss the days when I would sit and play in the yard. I would make mud pies and cake and just be a curious, simple kid.

Nowadays, you look around at a restaurant, and the minute a kid says anything loudly or wiggles in their seat, the parents give them a tablet.

My kids are never having tablets.

To satiate ourselves, we’ve seemed to somewhere swipe away our simple senses.

We’ve forgotten what it’s like to be entertained by words on an unmoving, dull page.

We’ve forgotten what it’s like to sit and listen to the birds - or even to listen to a podcast or anything over 10 minutes.

Our lost city is our simplicity.

When will we dig it up again?

———

We’ve forgotten what it’s like to be bored.

And that’s dangerous.

Those that are easily bored are easily manipulated, because they’ll grasp onto anything that comes their way in a desperate attempt to escape from their inner silence.

Father
Teach me

Father
Reach me

Father
Don’t leave me

Father
Hear me!

Father
Hear me?

I’m seven again
Mom has left
It’s you and me

I’m eight again
I don’t understand
Was it me?

I’m nine again
Moms back in town
But you act like she’s not there

I’m ten again
Dad won’t you listen?
His breath smells funny

I’m eleven again
I thought you loved mom
Won’t you help her now?

I’m fifteen again
I’m screaming silently for attention
Why won’t you talk to me?

I’m seventeen again
You don’t seem to care
So I won’t care either

I’m eighteen again
He’s gone
You couldn’t protect him either

Father
You never left, but you did

Father
I don’t know how to talk to you

Father
Goodbye

Dans Mon Lit

j'ai eu viens de réveiller
mes rêves ont eu une sensation triste
et ont été trop supporter
mais je ne peux pas souvenir quoi ils ont été

je me rappelle dernier nuit, mes larmes sont tombés
sur mon lit, parmi les draps et j'ai dormi
avec mes échecs en formulaire liquide
mes yeux ont été bouffies et mouillés

j'ai réveillé en l'obscurité, et je peux sentir
mes gonflés, séches yeux et mon vide espirit
J'ai allongé dans le silence sans bouger
jusqu'a j'ai souvenu pourquoi j'ai pleure

j'ai espéré que si j'ai sans bouger
le souvenir ne serait jamais revenir
et que réalité serait s'effondre
puis être rebati encore sans cette

mais, ce n'a pas été ca façon
et j'ai dû bouger toujours
j'ai dû revenir au réalité j'ai cassé
et recolle les morceaux

The sky turns dark

The wind blows
Shaking the leaves in the trees
Pulling them almost from their roots

The sky turns a grayish blue

Then the rain comes
Down, down, down
Like silky sheets upon a mattress

The storm is here

Dig
Dig
Down

Feel the sweat on your brow
The dirt on your brown, brown hands

The shovel in your fists
The blisters an ugly bright red

Headlamp flickering
Back bending down

Down
Down
Down

Into the dark, damp earth

cold sunsets
on a crisp winter day

a cozy college campus
students all rushing away

brisk paces to their dorm
or class, or library, or home

running running
running

while the sun sinks
beneath the icy night