As if only to tease upon the threads of our being
Fate and fortune play out the game of our days
Move by move, fashioned to please the player
Stun the observer and torture,  yes torture the pieces
The game now almost at a close as lifes sands ebb
Grain by grain dropping to oblivion
Odd many moves once played repeated but not anticipated
Yet with familiarity, the hurt, the outome, just the same
When fortune plays light shines upon the sands
Though they still decend, just not observed
When fates turn again comes, the only sound is that of the rushing sand
Is that all we are