Hour Glass Poem by JJ Evendon

I look at my hour glass and think
“do I turn or do I not turn? ”
- that's the question I ask myself.
To turn would see time slowly ebb away, grain by grain,
only to be transported to another place
to re-set itself again.
Progression without thought.
Letting time slip past.
Knowing the inevitable end.
Only to become a mirror of itself.
If I hold the making of an hour in my hand,
does that mean my day is one short?