My life sifting

[Dancing Phantom]

The sand sifting down the back of my hands, I grasp at the last granules. As the last piece falls I feel there is nothing left. My side begins to feel empty, a hollow place forms just under my heart. My mind grasps for the joy of days past, but my heart cracks with each memory. These times are no more. The pieces of me splinter off my shattered heart. As they sink into my soul they fall away to the hollow. My soul grabs hold of whatever it can to relieve the pain that echoes in the depth that calls to consume every piece of me. Each labored breath brings more pain, each passing thought causes more tear stains. I can not feel outside anymore, just trapped inside being swallowed. I weep, I gnash, I run blades across my flesh. There is no respite from the hollow, it will not stop until it has consumed even the most guarded parts of me. I reach through the pain and find my spirit writhing and soul crushing. I collect the remaining pieces of my heart and attempt to hold on. Like sand, sifting down the back of my hands.

 

[ChristConsciousnes]

Steeped in pure emotionally visceral anguish, and almost painful to read, but an experienced poetry analyst or reader will grasp the sense of subtle finesse and waning rhythmic symmetry; glimmering faintly like a nectar-elixir jewel stone in a flashflood of magma.

The reader is simultaneously emancipated by poetic grace and within a few lamenting moments, drowned in an undertow of quicksand.