The second hand shifts in stages
Marking a time more precious
Than the beating of my wounded heart
As it pounds between my ears
That neverending metronome
All but saying goodbye
The candles lighting our path
Guttered out by silent rains
A flood of emotions poured in
Spilling across the tipping point
And screams that take flight
Bleeding into nightmare
The sands slide always downward
Turning into tempered glass
A mirror to be shattered
My eyes closed to the light
Reflecting off broken shards
The minute hand sits in place
As still as your departed ghost
Frantically waiting to move
To slide seamlessly back in time
When a moment was forever
And we weren’t saying goodbye.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 