Time is fluid they say, and yet the granules vary.
New sand scrapes the side of an hour glass squeezing slowly
Like a wasped summer end gone on forever until frost nips.
Waiting, still waiting for Christmas that is so far distance
Smoother sand slides fast when the time to hand in work comes due
Fast like a starving curse never uttered.

Now the grains are small, so small they flow faster than money ever did
Was that summer just gone? How did that happen.
Christmas here already? No time, no time.
Sleep comes fleeting, a thief upon the pillow of every grudged minute.
Bones ache in the bitter winter at the end.
Time’s up.