Thing Held

Holding all I hold that’s mine.

A modern king. The gifts of time.

 

Allot no grip nor means to hold.

Today in grasp yet drifting old.

 

Begotten days become as sand.

Slow subtle shift across barren land.

 

Things held before now gone from view.

Fast faded they like morning dew.

 

Four seasons passed as if a dream.

In winter’s chill left wondering.

 

Now looking back, was not as planned,

for in the end… I naked stand.