Every Second, sand flows through that glass
Only to escape with rhythm and rhyme
Time stays for an hour, only to pass
Make sure to keep a clock, to count the time.
Though, when the glass breaks, and shatters to parts
People are cursed, to be lost forever
The end is always the same place it starts
Although, one can never be more clever.
Thousands of grains, sliding down that steep hole
With millions, that will count to that steep end
Countless hours, to which, that glass once stole.
Many wasted seconds, which time can't mend.
Every heartbeat, hundreds of grains flow,
And you just sit, and watch that sand fall slow.
Author notes
This is my first sonnet... =P
A contest entry
- a hundred eighty degrees - TIMED - midnight by narcissus at oasis.
800 points, ended March 24, 2007, 16 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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I did have a non-rhyme rule, but I will make an exception for form poetry. This was very well done.
The rhyming didn't sound forced, and the concept was put across quite nicely. Thank you for entering, and best of luck to you.
[n.]
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