Someone Left the Coffee Pot On

Time really does just pass right by, like sifting sand through hands that hold it, trying to squeeze it tightly to enclose it. To feel it passing through the fingertips, it grips the soul that needs it, wants it, sifts through it, haunts it, has it just to feel at ease. Please, don't let it pass through gaping holes, strength can't last, and then it folds, this soul that thirsts for one last chance, to feel the grains of time and dance. With thoughts of having full hands once more, filling with sand, feeling more and more. Each grain that passes catches a ride with the wind and off it goes never to return again. So the soul keeps digging, hungering for more, of the sand of time that melts into the shore. 

Aint it funny how time slips away...