Posted in Word Prompt

Time

Sands churn forward,
Down,
All around.
Unaware of our weak grasp
Upon this loose concept of time.
Where does it go?
Why does it hide?
We ask ever shifting shapes in the mirror.
How long has it been?
Do you remember when?
We speak to the freshly churned dirt again.

Churn

Author:

Letters from inside my head

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