Sand
Each tiny grain
Each little speck
Falls like rain
Down the neck

Each aging day
Each waning year
Light goes grey
As death creeps near

Each clockwork tick
Each memory past
Chronophobic
Then peace at last.

Comments:
 
lynda13   lynda13 wrote
on 10/29/2009 9:50:01 AM
I felt you had much more to say, but didn't. You seem to have thought alot about the subjuct, but my guess is you left your strongest feeling fears ot of this poem.

Rinskinski
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writing Rinskinski
"Painters paint their pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence." - Leopold Stokowski

"Do you know that our soul is composed of harmony?" - Leonardo da Vinci
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