Poem: Watching the Hourglass.

The essence of a memory wrapped tightly into a poem.

Photo by Alexandar Todov on Unsplash

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Recently, I sent this poem to a few of my friends, and explained to them the inspiration behind it as well. However, given the poem’s meaning and personal connection it holds in me. It felt like something I should share here on Substack, too.

And I think the way I’m going to do this is: Share the poem first, and then get into the deeper meaning behind it.

I’d love to see what parts of the poem speaks to you, as well. Don’t be afraid to share your thoughts with me. I always strive for more feedback.

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Watching the Hourglass.

Resting on the desk, an hourglass tells– 
Time moving from above, cascading down. 
Two eyes stare, taken by its grainy spells, 
Hooking childlike joy, flipping their frown.  

The top patiently depletes all its cells,  
Only to be grasped, and danced back around– 
Matte plastic shifting between pastels,  
All to ease two eyes, nearing a breakdown.   

With memory of aging outdoor smells,  
And unruly hands, following throughout town–  
Looking to break, causing saddened repels, 
Losing a kid’s favorite way to calm-down.   

The glass is reset, grains pouring once more.  
Relieved, the eyes peer, able to adore. 

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Over the past month, I’ve been spending a lot of time “putting pen to paper.” Working on my breaks to write poetry for my upcoming book “Through all the Colors.” But not every piece speaks to me in the same way. And naturally, there are some that I glean more meaning from as I write them.

This poem was one of those.

Back as an autistic child (don’t worry I’m still autistic even now), there was nothing more stimulating than watching the grains of sand fall from a minute-glass. It was satisfying, and when the minute was up, I felt great pride in flipping it to start the process over again.

The experience was encapsulating, to say the least, and I loved it. I’d carry around the minute-glass with me wherever I’d go. Just this little piece of plastic and sand I probably stole from some board-game. And bringing it with me outside, to school, wherever I was permitted to do so.

But the experience didn’t last, did it? In the poem I talk about some villainous foe looking for the opportunity to break the hourglass. But in reality, it was just some kids being kids: unfair and mean.

Having them take the minute-glass away from me and breaking it was devastating to me as a child. And I while I don’t remember what happened after, whether I went to my legal-guardian at the time. It was just a heart-breaking experience for young child me to go through.

Time moves on though, right? And eventually, new things— or fixations— will come along to fill the holes left by old stuff. Sort of a “Time heals all wounds” sort of thing, as one of my friends pointed out.

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Before you go, here’s a couple posts I want to shout-out.

“You’d Look So Pretty” by

The poet Miranda

.

When I read this post, I was floored by how fluid and well-rounded the poem is. It’s incredibly well-written, and feels carefully crafted to showcase what Miranda wanted to tell her wife. It’s holds a lot of meaning and emotion, which is only further complemented by her voice-over.

"You'd Look So Pretty" a poem by Miranda

Miranda is an incredibly talented Poet, so definitely go check out her work, and perhaps, give her a subscribe?

The Highway at the End of the World by

Bradley Ramsey

.

Bradley is someone who has really been exploding into the Substack writing scene. And he is so inspiring-ly adamant with both his writing and support of other writers, too.

Having gotten the chance to talk with him the other night, he shared with me a bit about his love of gaming, with one particular standout being his interest of interactive story games— you know, like what Telltale does.

1. He mentioned how he wrote a few different “Choose Your Own Adventure” stories, putting them here on Substack. So, I asked him for recommendations and he sent me this one:

   The Highway at the End of the World

   This particular story is so fascinating— not entirely because of its incredible story beats or fantastic writing— but also because it’s a CYOA. I’ve never seen anyone do something like this here on Substack (though I’m sure there might be others).

   I’m not going to spoil anything, but I insist you take the time to read it. You will not be disappointed, unless you don’t like sci-fi/dystopian. Then maybe it’s not your cup of tea. But please, go check it out! And give Bradley a subscribe.

   And here’s a last-minute shoutout before the post goes live:

   Partnered between

   V. Walker
   and
   Mina Howell
   , Anthology of the Afterlife is a new Substack with a collaborative focus on stories relating to the Afterlife. And at the time of writing this, it’s still being set up. However, you can learn more about it via the link posted below.

   It’s a really cool idea, and I’m excited to see how it turns out! And also, I submitted a piece for the anthology, so keep an eye out?

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Thank you for taking the time to read through this post! If you enjoyed it, please consider subscribing to the blog to get regular post updates. I post new poems every week, among other content, so there’s plenty to look forward to!

Also, once again, I urge you to share your thoughts in the comments below. I’d love hear what you took away from the poem. And any feedback is deeply appreciated!