repost : the sands of time...

...black or white, its all a matter of perspective. some tales are told somewhere else first. still they might belong to someplace else altogether...

***

there's a distant sand that travels borne in flight by the wind
and a fine sand that slips away from my grasp within


the coarse sand nature violently breaks down into fine grain
a wet sand sculpts the dreams of a child in her innocent play


the crafted sand blazes on the fire to feed my hunger tonight
the glazed sand brightly bedecks my beloved bride
there's a even a sand i worship as my faith's right


the sand trapped inside the twisted glass un-counts my day
i'm the ethereal sand that my bones will turn into someday


in the end its all nothing, but simply sand laying along my way

...