While the stone awaits in a lengthy span of time, The blue curtain blankets its soul; Waiting to turn into dust, into light Into non-existence 'Till the gems of the sea washes up ashore Just as the clouds of disarray Spits out the last specks of light As it blends with the mist. And into the far distance, the stone awaits Down goes the last drop Won't rotate the hourglass Its time is up.
A poem started by Frank Lloyd A.K.A. Tiger and finished by me. A sort of random poem. It's worth to try.