Life In A Carrier Bag

Life In A Carrier Bag

The Hour Glass

Sand drops, one grain then another
And I see another wrinkle form in my hour glass.
Getting bigger, deeper and darker
The nights are now longer and colder
With nothing but a paper vest
To stop the wind that howls
, around my chest

"Cold is the bittersweet vein of contempt
, cast in the shadows of darkened lament"

Today they will laugh at me
, but try not to stare.
It buns my neck within this glare
Is it my vest , could be my hair?
Could be the fact I am really there
Is there anyone here to really care?
, let them stare

"So poignant this judgmental mass
, transparent through their hour glass"

How easy for them to put me down
And the comfort at will, to turn around
As I pass them bye, I look to the ground
Haunting whispers, from muffled sound
They're so profound, on their own rebound

"My nails are dirty but my soul is clean
, baptized in in the eyes, of gods own stream"

When will people look at me
, and see the person I used to be?
Or do we all just live surmised ?
Can you ever see the tramp that cries?
Have you ever seen a real sunrise?
Will you ever feel it cold at night?
What about these tired eyes? once bright

"Sleep is for the child with dreams
, embellished in a love that looms"

Time once more to try for sleep.
My cardboard blanket, is all I need
To hide from life and shield the rain
To close my eyes and ease refrain
To awaken tomorrow, oblivious to pain
Dreams for an old man, going insane
But the sand still drops, and images remain

© Robert "Rogano" Anderson 2008