Wasted Time

Grain by grain, dunes have passed through the glass.

Immeasurable are the inevitable deserts

resulting from the dissipated dreams

that, like drafts, have slipped between the seams

of the opaque pained panes.


These grains, only to be lifted in the shifting winds

and drifted off indiscernibly

to the place where hope begins and ends.


Not where they were intended to be

but landing instead where none can see,

forgotten and faded in obscurity.


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