Beneath the heavens’ vast and starry gaze,
Where silence weaves its threads through mortal thought,
The hourglass stands, its slender neck composed
Of time’s relentless, unremitting flow.
Each grain, a fleeting moment spun from life,
Descends in soft lament, a whisper lost,
Yet in its fall, a universe contained.

Behold the sands, now golden in the light,
Yet shaded gray beneath the weight of dusk.
What dreams are borne within these fleeting grains,
What laughter bright, what tears of bitter salt?
Each crystal bears a spark of fleeting joy,
Each drop of sorrow etched in fragile stone,
All pressed into the fleeting hands of time.

How cruel the hourglass, fixed and finite made,
Its boundless top an aching, empty void,
While at the base, the heavy sands amass,
Their stillness marking time forever spent.
O mortal hands, that seek to grasp its glass,
Yet cannot still the grains that...