The essence of Life is that it stops.
Like Sand in an Hour Glass
there is a finite amount of
Seconds, Breaths, Lungfuls of Air
that you as a Body get to take.
All grains of Sand.
We hold them in our fist,
and no matter how tightly or loosely,
no matter the amount of space between our fingers,
that Sand will fall.
Sometimes we will notice,
and sometimes we will not.
Sometimes we will clench our fists
in an attempt for some control,
in an attempt to joust with Fate,
but all that will occur is an increase of slipping.
And sometimes we will come across the shards
of a Broken Hourglass
take that Glass and Metal lying at our feet
christen it art, poetry, literature, and inspiration
but all it will ever be is part of a Corpse’s story.
The remnants of of a container for something bigger.
We need to remember that.