Weathered Brow Poem by jack green

Time has slipped by me as grains of sand.
Spill from my trembling out stretched hand.
Fond are the days spent soaking the sun.
Smelling the roses while attempting to run.

My eyes on the horizon and my back to the wind.
Snapshots of memories from beginning to end.
Some have turned yellow aging like wine.
Others just blooming as grapes on the vine.

If only my fingers could hold back the sand.
Or reach down and grab another hand full again.
A dreamer I was born and always shall be.
Swimming in the water of a sandy sea.


Searching for something that soon shall not last.
And finding that it passes by so fast.
Finally understanding all we have is right now.
I pause and wipe sand from my weathered brow.