Staring at the hour glass

From the poetry book, a dream of flowers on a weekend, when you are caught up in life and the woman you love catches angry fever.

I am just a man;
Chasing life as best as I can;
But I know the world won't stop spinning,
Especially if I am down;
Torn, breaking and lost to the will of winning.
Trying to conquer a woman's heart like she is a kingdom withholding my crown.
I lost myself facing that storm ,fighting and drowning,
For things that have lost meaning.
Through it all, I watched the darkness fall,
And I had my back against the wall.
Am really scared, I see it every time I look in the mirror
cause how I love you, doesn't feel real, I doubt the wounds will ever heal
Especially if it's you, who holds the sword,
Staring at me silently,
As I drag myself across the floor miserably.
'Mercy', I have shouted one to many times,
Your demons lurking right in your eyes, whispering truths that are only just lies
I pray that day never comes, and that your evil side forever sleeps, so I don't die
In the anger and rage, you might not even see its me
End up hurting me while am on your side.
My love is the sky,yours is the ocean,
Limitless as my love may be, the sky can't see it's reflection unless the ocean is not moving and there is bright light in the open
So For now, I would rather not see the bad,
Am not blind, I just can not stare at the last sand sinking in the hour glass
Live in the moment rather than indulge the sad
Ignore your negativity and Pursue the happiness instead.
In time you will grow to understand.
being far away from me will turn you into your darkest self.
The vision you had of me as your light, will begin to melt out of sight,
ruining the pages of the perfect part of our lives along the book shelf.
The clock rings and I stutter, knocking over the hour glass.
It breaks on the side dropping sand fast; We don't have enough time so let's not waste it dwelling on things we could leave in the past;
Time is precious when measured, last time I saw we had plenty, yet am still left staring at the hour glass empty in the mess
I must be lying to myself I guess;

Author's Note

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