My hour glass

Had the grain of salt, that still balances upon the lip, fallen to flow with the sand below, I would have ceased to exist. 
Through the glass it is seen, throwing colored lights about as the sun sweeps overhead.
Such a simple thing, this grain of salt, at having the balance of life and death.
So curious is it that I question many a things.
'Who's time am I borrowing, if anyone's?'
'Is Old Father Time ready to pluck my hour-glass up out of the dunes?'
'Do I now have an indefinent amount of time to live a life far longer than granted?'
Questions these will be without answers.
Already a storm manifests against the horizon, a boiling mass of rage and violence.
The end comes to topple my life, but, I will greet it with a smile