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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #2039368
Time has found its fate, time is dying. A Dark Dreamscapes entry.

** Image ID #2036197 Unavailable **
TOO LATE

Sands of time has been drawn
Hastily down to the bottom of the hourglass.
It flowed down like a rushing stream
Earnest to meet the dying sea

One second would mean a year
Of trudging down the darkened path
My dreams, my hopes were doomed
To change my fate was beyond possible

Pendulums were clanging harshly
As grating gears were losing grips
Soon will crash, soon will vanish
Leaving its former form with not a single piece.

Time is ebbing, soon will die
Time will end, so will I?
The billowing waves will soon engulf
This arid land I trudged alone

No way to run, no way to flee
Death is on the way
Too late, I am too late
To die is my destiny.


Whispers of Sand, Rewrite

Sands whisper down, a mournful sigh,
Through glass veins, their journey nigh.
Once rushing streams, now slowing tide,
Toward that eternal ocean's side.

Each second stretches, yearlong weight,
On paths of dusk, where hope grows late.
My dreams, like embers, dimmed and frail,
Fate's iron hand beyond avail.

The pendulum's harsh, metallic moan,
Grinds gears to dust, leaves them alone.
A clockwork heart, soon to unwind,
No trace, no form, no echo left behind.

Time ebbs, a sigh on the dying breeze,
Will I, like it, find final peace?
The waves advance, a billowing shroud,
This arid soul, in silence bowed.

No flight, no fight, against the night,
Death's whisper chills, a fading light.
Too late to mend, too late to hide,
In starlit dust, I gently slide.

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