TIME

You become who you spend your time with, and what you spend your time doing.

The glass broke, right before the last pinch of sand hit the bottom.

 The uncontrollable aspect of Time.

 The sand which we will later return to.

 The figure every women wants to be.- The hour glass.

How time began to be, yes it had to be linked with how I came to be. is it a coincidence? The sand? 

That same sand we were made out of, now measures the mystic time. Mystic for no other reason than that which we have no record of its commencement.

What is evident is the voice which screams the equality it forces us to fit in. 

No amount money. No gender. No power can escape the boarders of time. 

The creator of impatience, and promise of tomorrow.
 

Time like a gold chain, even in its worth slips through your fingers.

Unrenewable resource. No mine can dig it, no factory manufactures it. 

No scientist to find its replacement. 

Time. Out of our reach, and yet the hand moves. 

Tick Tock.

Who can escape the cycle of the cloak? As the last pinch of sand hits the hour glass, so the vessel which holds our spirit returns to the soil.

what used to be a living being, now laying a wooden box. knock Knock?!

The fear driven mystery beholds heaven and hell behind the door I am knocking on - yet the hand knocking is not my own. 

Unable to move the slightest bone. Breath is lost to find the hand knocking is -Tick Tock. 

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