Hourglass

Hourglass

By Scott S. Batchelor

I stumbled 'round down dog filled streets, broke dreams bled underneath,

The night turned red as fresh raw meat, to dust my bones bequeath.

These streets to wander cold and lost, my soul a leaden weight,

My breath a whisper on the frost, the hour is getting late.

A cigarette pulled out and lit, I smoke them down to stubs.

To contemplate this life of shit in dark corners back of pubs.

I'm waiting for my hourglass to empty dry as bone,

At the bar to hold a mass, for now I am alone.