The Hourglass

by Kenneth Vincent Walker

With each passing day
Through the hourglass
Regrettably—I can feel
Within my strained joints
And brittle bones; I hear

Each granule drop with
A resounding roar while
Others notice not and
Somehow manage to
Disregard and or ignore.

My heightened sense
And sensibility come at
A cost which I'd rather
Not reveal. All I'll say is
That it is pilfered from

Those who cannot feel.