Strands of Sand

A struggle within for a glimmer of hope,
standing on stones that forever bemope.
Each step I take feels heavy and slow,
beneath my feet, the shadows grow.

I hang on high from strands of sand,
clinging tight to a fragile strand.
Time dwindles past at the hour’s hand,
leaving me stranded in a desolate land.

Spending periods of everlasting results,
a heart that lingers, a mind that revolts.
What am I searching for in this endless maze,
where hope feels distant, lost in the haze?

The stones beneath me are cold and gray,
they whisper doubts that lead me astray.
Yet still, I grasp at the fleeting light,
hoping for dawn at the edge of night.

The sands slip slowly through my grasp,
a reminder of moments that didn’t last.
But somewhere within, a flicker remains—
a spark of belief that cuts through the chains.

Hanging on high, though the strands may break,
I hold to the hope that my soul can awake.
For even as the hours slip through my hand,
I stand, I endure, on this shifting sand.

So let the stones bemope, let the shadows fall,
I’ll keep reaching, keep climbing, through it all.
For the struggle within is the path I take—
a journey of hope, a leap of faith.