If the sands of time could tell a tale,
the body would tremble,
withered,
drained of all life,
rising from the creator's dust,


But when the sands of time speak,
the world ignores,
clinging to false dreams,
hoping that money will bring joy,
its the same story each day,
the coldness,
the sadness,
the blood thirsty buzzards,
dragging the carcass of the weak,


When the arid days end,
the waters will flow,
hope shall return,
the restless shall have sleep....


Dayne-Christopher