Continually eluding,
love teases
us into thinking
it may be confined
and defined
by craving and desire
always seeming
never quite
within our reach.
Perchance,
we may witness it,
once grasped,
slipping through
our hands
like so many grains
of hot desert sand
Trickling slowly
to depletion
within our allotted hourglass
of given time.
As the last grains sift
narrowly through the graceful
curves of glass,
love remains captured,
ever- present
and matured
in it's measured amount
in the opposite end of
a cycle of time.
Have hope,
all ye broken hearted-
for the hourglass is made
for turning over!
Martha Meshberg
Copyright ©2001
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