Sands of My Broken Timing Glass

How long until the sands run out
Of your ticking, tracking eyes
That look so freely in and through me
And gaze upon shores of my muddled tries

How long until the sands run out
Of my heart’s beating, childish dial
That tocks along as I dash in song
Fearful of how you could put me on trial

How long until the sands run out
Of this lasting fear of fears
That blankets my shell of walls and wells
Where whispers of truth dwell for years

How long until the sands run out
Of my sodden, searching soul
That is covered in moss of troubles and loss
Laden with satchels of unfinished goals

How long until the sands run out
Of my broken timing glass
And I can stop waiting for the abating
Of this lonesome inner stormy mass

more by A. M. LAINE

Photograph by Maxime Costes