Words We Cannot Speak

the hour glass

Fine grains of sand sift through the hour glass,
Marking the passing of my ever-moving life.

One hour is up and then another,
But what have I accomplished?

Time is measured in hours, minutes, seconds,
Surely it should be measured in mere achievements.

I sit and watch the flowing sand,
Waiting until an hour is up so I can turn over the hour glass and repeat these tedious days again.

But watching the clock, if anything, slows down the passing of time.

And our last regrets will surely be that we forgot to live whilst we were counting hours on another hour glass.
-holly boyd