stuck in an Hourglass, wishing to become a thing of moss,

vanish deep into the forest;  a thing of mist,

evaporate into thin air.

only by becoming time can you slow it down,

by letting the woods swallow you whole

can you become a local legend.

but we Rent the air we breathe,

we rent the space we take up;

we’re stuck in an hourglass, grain by grain,

like a fleeting autumn day with a strong desire

to arrest time, fading away.

time heals but it also flows,

often it even hurts like the ladder scrapping the apple tree.