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Chris Lazzaro Mar 10
Although life slips away like sand through glass,
I continue to defy death,
for each breath is not yet my last.
Star BG Mar 4
Inside hourglass,
sands of time drift dainty.
As if a conglomerate
of footsteps
dancing within its path.

Sands glisten
collecting sunlight
making way
for diamond moments
of memories to anchor.

Each particle to be climbed
as if I am mountain climber
and IT beckons me to
rise toward dream visions.

I hold glass menagerie
up to sun celebrating
passing moments
good and bad,
as if I see their gift.

As each grain holds
endless possibilities
in my child like mind.
inspired by Nish
My patience tends to run out
Like the last bit of sand
That falls oh so quickly
In a second's span
As if she is at the end
Of my life's hourglass
In order to get to her
I must conquer my past
The girl who awaits me
She, who shares the same soul
The one I am fighting for
Who stands above, on her own
The character that I long for
She, who embodies my goals
Nurtured by the love I will give her
Can't wait to see how much I've grown
Cyrus Gold Jan 17
Misplacin’ entitlement,
bannin’ visitation
Crime ridden, broken windows,
lack of education

Survive the death of the soul,
a sole survivin’ nation
Shatterin’ family cores
and forcin’ new displacement

Wanderin’ hand is a force
we simply can’t escape from
Evil is bought and endorsed
through coded conversation

Don’t be afraid to show emotion
when you least expect it
It’s simply proof of your devotion
doubt is intercepted

Minutes turn to hours
as I savor every part of you
Sharin’ in the power
doin’ favors just to start anew

Demons fly to start a feud
Easy just to call a truce
“Betray your excellence and
your defeat will surely follow suit!”

So keep your head up
Don’t you let up ’cause the city beckons
The hourglass has been broken
as hours turn to seconds

Just let it bleed
and cut the ties that are bindin’
Feel the size of the lapse and write
’til your thoughts are unwindin’

Lace your mind with your talent
watch how the synthesis rises
Paint the ink with your truth –
the one that your demon despises

Start your count from eleven, writer
It’s down to the wire
Final hour requires shunnin’
your pain to the fire!

(***** the hourglass!)
Never take for granted a single minute
(***** the hourglass!)
Spend your days ascendin’ beyond your limits

(***** the hourglass!)
Don’t let a single second go to waste
Invest in your expression
Believe in yourself and keep the pace.
Esther Dec 2018
my love for you is like an hourglass
when you leave
i shatter with it
Jodie-Elaine Nov 2018
The day sits waiting in it's pear-shaped
room, one of the vacant eyed occupants of other, older,
occupied chairs.
The day crosses it's knees, one leg
over the other as a white flag,
The day wants it's peace,
it fought the world wars, caught it's reflection aged,
tripped over itself
calling itself out, a
This day knows it won't live tomorrow,
knows it's wanted blind and poor, so waits
in a waiting room,
wasting the room's air in an exchange of
This day is counting down it's losses, putting
all of it's seconds in a jam jar.

And there are screams never externalised, legs never uncrossed,
paperweights weighing less than those they push to the floor, and
this day is
this day is
from the inside out in the form of folded linen,
inconspicuous on a plastic chair.
This day holds
up the moon,
hears it's laughter and falls through the cracks
in the tide.
His knuckles aren't
connected to his fingertips and
shoulders feet apart
from the spine,
the spine crossing one leg over the other in a pear-shaped room
with fingertips tapping at themselves, writhing into an hourglass formation.
This day is holding
up the walls.
Count this day lost when your eyes skip it, miss it, dance past it
in a waiting room.
Count this day screaming
when you wake up tomorrow.
Brandon Conway Oct 2018
Happiness is but sand in a hourglass
all the memories sit at the bottom of the pit
ones left to look upon in remembrance


to be turned over again
Nick Stiltner Sep 2018
Why does the morning pass by so quickly?
The grey light fades steadily away
as the sun reaches the top of its ascent.
Empty coffee cups, the bottom layered with grounds,
sit on the desk by the window.

Sewn into the fabric, intricately woven,
the multi colored threads begin to overlap
and are tightened, pulled through by the sure hand
of the passing hours.

The outline blurs,
the voice of memory begin to dissolve.
The faded face mouths the words
but I cannot remember the sound,
lost to the piling sands
at the bottom of the hourglass.
Sep 2018
When to grab I'm not sure
Not when Time is tariff
Barely making of Future's contour
Space and fate in Miscellany

But perhaps I Must grab,
for that remaining Flickering seconds--
before Regret stabs my back
of once-in-a-blue-moon's Wasted Opportunity
Opportunity is given at the right time-- grab it.
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