Penny coins drop through my fingers
on top of the grave of the present.
Each a day, second, moment. Spent.
A passing shiver of consciousnesses between sleep rises up into the vast cloudy sky.
A mare wisp of steam evaporating.
Discontentment and regrets grind through the cogs in the clock becoming sand on the beach.
A single day becoming a ringing, chiming melody in the bank of background noise.
The waves taint the golden sand with black filler
The steam becomes a rain cloud
The coins dwindle in to bankruptcy
I fear at the end of my days I will become very poor
Unless you held my hand with your Midas-touch.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 9:13 PM UTC
Penny coins drop through my fingers
on top of the grave of the present.
Each a day, second, moment. Spent.
A passing shiver of consciousnesses between sleep rises up into the vast cloudy sky.
A mare wisp of steam evaporating.
Discontentment and regrets grind through the cogs in the clock becoming sand on the beach.
A single day becoming a ringing, chiming melody in the bank of background noise.
The waves taint the golden sand with black filler
The steam becomes a rain cloud
The coins dwindle in to bankruptcy
I fear at the end of my days I will become very poor
Unless you held my hand with your Midas-touch.
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