brink

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sands sifting in my palm
stream through my fingers
as wind picks up

a fickle hourglass
trickling down
time is running out


the crystal shatters
along with my reflections
and thousands of could-have-beens

glass shards bristle
at the threat of touch
reparations are impossible

we have travelled to the brink
now it’s time to go back.





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Your Prince ;) said...
Aug. 10, 2010 at 6:48 pm
Again, fanatastic work! I am simply in love with your writing style. :P
 
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