Hour Glass

It's like a deserted desert That carries only the sounds of the souls weeping Once again, we have connected Through the fires below the ocean's floor My heart can't carry passion For an invisible allure That lashes too vertical Thus far Our glass half full Expecting the authentic scratches And soothing spheres of its mellow tone Whimper did I, as the septic perception Forms a crater where most fall mute A skeptic in these hectic interruptions Which sews our orals to the corals Where we drown in a bliss An abyss that spins to shake free the sands of time I transfer my prosper with fibers fallen from thy withering heart to reconstruct the beating of Nore