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Lotus Feb 2021
The thumb and ******* of my left hand pinched the neck of a sandglass. The sand leaving the top bulb was almost translucent, and although the glass of the miniature instrument was thick for its size, I could almost feel the friction of each grain as they slide down. As the sand formed a growing pile at the base of the bottom bulb, my ears became numb, and began to ache. My ears felt like the inside of a cathedral, the walls of which were collapsing. I look down to my right hand and see I am holding a shovel. Why do I need a shovel? I thought to myself. Then I felt my knees give way to the heaviness that surrounded them. I was sinking in sand, a giant ocean of sand. This game I had never played before now, but I somehow knew the rules. Drop the sandglass in my left hand and whatever force held this ocean around me in place would fall and shatter. Drop the shovel and I’d have no way to dig myself out.  
How does this dream end?
I've been having some very intense dreams of late, this poem describes one that  had this last Saturday night.
PoserPersona Jun 2018
Black and white country
Novel youths hitchhike state sites
Kodak Kodachrome
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Digital photos
Novel youths hitchhike websites
Black and white country
Nerilia Xekoen Feb 2019
Keep your catty heart
in the cold chest of yours.
Wipe out the tears made of iron.
With an ivory on the wall
carve my name - if you can,
inbuilt it, if you can, with a piece
of an fading memory.
Throw it away, if you can,
in the traces of the ocean waves.
Ghost of an caged memory in an amber.
The time can not touch it.
The ocean can not wash it away.
He is left to sleep in an sandglass long time ago.

A catty heart -
cold hands on the wall.
Eyes - gazing in the wistful silence
Thoughts - drown in the ocean
Knees - on the floor they're leaning
Heart - left to burn in the fire,
In the blue flames
Tears of molten iron
With an ivory my name on the wall has been carved,
to remind has been left
In the traces of the ocean waves his mind is wandering
in an sandglass
This is the english translation of my bulgarian poem with the name
"Спомен от слонова кост" written a few minutes ago.
Dave Zucker Mar 2013
The time we had,
Fades more each day.
I cry for you now,
yet you'll only turn away.

And this sickness,
it consumes me.
Yet I let it define,
All I will ever be.

Can we be fixed?
Is there any chance?
Pondering this thought,
in my drunken trance.

I tried so hard today.
Just not to think of you.
Yet I sit here daydreaming,
and there's nothing I can do.

The sandglass empties,
Time just slips out.
Feelings of insanity,
making me want to shout.

Afraid to lose you,
Afraid to expire.
Yet I feel time will end,
without the one I desire.

Time always seems to slow down,
Thinking of you not being around.
Sitting here, hurting, missing you.
Heavy heartbeat, the only sound.

Time will still go on,
continue to slip away.
Yet here I'll sit, waiting.
Missing you every day.
Pierson Pflieger Feb 2013
We dream of a home-
nothing excessive, just what we need:
love,
a mess of babies,
and dogs.

We dream of a home
and
being rooted in our careers-
satisfying and purposeful,
with enough pay to not worry.
Enough to provide for a family,
everything they need.

We dream of a home
and raising our children there.
A few of our own, some adopted-
all gifts from God.
Raising them with patience and love;
instilling in them the faith,
morals, and values
our parents instilled in us.

Our new apartment is nicer
and feels like home.
Decorated with our favorite memories:
polaroid moments,
a jar of concert tickets,
bottle of sandglass:
blues and greens (our favorite),
browns and whites,
you and me,
minutes,
hours,
afternoons.

Teacher’s pay and grad school:
student loans, car payments;
bills.
We don’t have a lot, but
we save what we can
for the life we want to have.
Too poor for a house,
contentment
can be our home.
amrutha Mar 2015
Bold strokes a shy paintbrush makes
A flawless stroke of golden brown - her hips
Heart beats faster the artist breathes
Heavy and breathless and stolen
  Brave hands it takes
  To paint her bare sandglass waist
The woman who made him realize
  that he has a heart
  and that it beats only when he thinks of her.
Shi Em Apr 2023
i don't remember most of my days;
time flows right past me —
it's like everyone is moving,
and moving on fast;
but grief, my grief
nails me down as they pass;
watching it all slowly;
watching them live their
lives before me –
watching my life
move,
(move!
move!)
without
me
Alexandra Nov 2010
Selfishly in the night I raise you from the dead.
each suture cleanly picked, caressed and bled
until I'm lost. I wake to pink skies.
Gray memories call behind me: tentacular smoke
pulling, insisting, towards you, and hell.
but you were one for ice, not fire.

If I turn quickly I can still see it:
'two skinny long-hairs' in an empty hall
blushing, secret, tripping into a kiss
knocking together and  sliding past innocent days.
I didn't blame you, naturally, but there's
blood on your hands and you still have my things.

So I close my eyes again and sail for another day,
another night to miss you, to watch you fall grain
by unnoticed grain in a sandglass.
already the light has changed and you no longer glow.
it is a cruel hope, but I know I shall awake
and one day, find no lover, only dust.
PERTINAX Aug 2016
It was noon when the wise man approached me.
In his hand he carried a one hour sandglass,
Jovially bellowing upon every grain that trickled down.
So absorbed was he that clearly time didn't matter;
'For another two steps and he woulda crushed me and his hourglass.
"Woah timely sir!
It seems you've run out of seconds!"
I exclaimed
"Might I inquire about what is so important within this hour?"

The Sands slowed their decent as his gaze shifted...
His eyes fixated,
Everything froze...
Including the final grain,
Floating,
In its chalice.

He spoke to me.

"Given the choice between an
Hour...
Minute...
Second...
Which would you be?"

Curious I told him
"One hour"
To his reply
"There's only 24 of those in a day,
Think bigger."

Playing along I invoked
"The minute"
As he chuckled
"Though indeed bigger,
1440 is still too small.
Think larger."

Confused I queried
"A second?"
Not quite catching on

The laughing ended as he lifted his clock.
Silence reigned.
My eyes shifted to the immobile grain,
Hypnotic in its suspension,
When finally the fellow spoke above me:

"I hope you now understand the significance
Of 86400 moments."
Just before he turned the glass
To walk away.
Mrs Timetable Feb 2020
I never want you to go
You never want me to go
Let’s scoop up all the sands
On the worlds beaches
Put them in hour glasses
Lay them on their sides
So we can pause fleeting time
And we can just be
So many of our friends and family have lost their mates in death, young and old.
wordvango Aug 2017
falling down the sandglass so
endlessly each grain second
so stopped a thought
stranded another grain of creative angst there
between the glasses skinny part
I sit whispering curses
I forget the
lines I had in memory when
I tried to write them down
turn that god ****** thing over
again
it is stuck
DC raw love Jan 2015
as my life keeps burning from my past
i see the fire below, which is my destiny

with the future of this time
as i leave this life behind
melting in the sandglass of time

controlled by powers unknown
suffice will never show

why do i believe in someone
who's rules are not right

no one ever told me
i would end up by meself

stretched out beyond belief
where theres no turning back

my life has now turned to stone
where i play games with myself

only to know that i would lose
to this paper trail of aftermath

how was i to know there was no heaven
and that i only believed that life was hell

— The End —