Treasure Island

Madrason writer

(24-07-1967 / waalwijk netherlands)

The Hands Of Time


I see the dry desert sands
the stripes on my hands
the strength of the skin
i ve been born in
dust is collecting
grey lines connecting
-he keeps rejecting-
the lifetime
the lifeline
now i recognise
i have to realise,
visualising
that i too
..........am,
could be him.

Submitted: Friday, April 19, 2013
Edited: Saturday, April 20, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

20-04-2013 Madrason

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