Student Poetry: Jonathan Dollar
Shifting Sands
My time is nearing, each grain of sand
that falls makes one more cell
inside me perish, makes
one more wrinkle on
my autobiography
called my skin.
My time is
nearing, each
day passes me by
faster and faster, leaving
behind my youthful self. My
time is nearing, each second makes
my eyes heavier: I am no match for gravity
I am no match for Chronos.