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Sand Clock

Thoughts that stir deep wanting to scream
Words are muffled by the shame of these
Heart races to the finish line, poor loser

Time goes by, much like a sand clock
Dreams of what is to come
Yet those visions do not form

A taste never savored, not even sipped
Hands roam yet do not touch
Naive is this desire, one that is gone

A sigh so deep it once filled the void
Now only empty space remains
Voices howl as souls wither

Darkness reigns upon sterile land
Someone laughed in the shadows
Asking for another card, game already dealt

Those that cry are the lucky ones
The heart mends, becomes stronger
Steps forge the path out into light

The warmest embrace is yet to come
Once eyes open, it will be seen
Love found within one's self

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Copyright © Copyright ©2013 by Isadora del Carmen

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