his sand canvas

When I was writing this, I was thinking of my grandfather, knowing he was close to death, and I was wondering what was going through his head.

The sand, flowing through his 

veins,

faster than the speed of light.

Staring, different angles,

a dark world.

Drawing a canvas,

simply to be

thrown into a dark hole,

and forgotten.

Nothing to remember but,

the sand,

that flowed through his,

veins.