An Hourglass Figure

[Cuylie]

I don't write poetry all that often, sometimes I'm moved to do so though.  This is an older piece and Sharps play with form has in turn inspired me to share my own:

An Hourglass Figure

Fine grains of sand sliding

through

my fingers

caught whipping

against my fine skin

caught in my green eyes

blinking away the painful tears

peering through the grit of 

the smoke screen trying

to grasp what was

to see what is

grasping

fine grains

of sand in my hand

sliding through my fingers

(fluid as your silkendark hair)

the light sand scraping my skin

tears stinging my eyes as 

I stand

a blind soul

in a whirlwind

with an empty

hand