Oh, how the time quickly passes

through the hourglass.

I can feel it sifting away,

so slowly, so gradually, so constantly.

 

Each second of grain 

finding its way through time.

From the future, so far away,

tumbling, tumbling into the present

and right on to past.

 

Every single grain in line,

In its own place

Between each particle of future and past,

Following one another

On its own journey through time.

 

As the last grain passes

out of the hourglass

where then, am I left standing

in the succession of time?