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Sands spill—the broken hourglass;
The shards of wilted hours pass
Beyond oceans of shadow and decay:
Rain on broken shores, now swept away.

The wounded kiss of tears that dry
Has turned my scars to light.
In my heart, there is a sigh
That wakes me in the night.

Is it a dream that haunts me?
A specter only I can see?
For this, for this, I have bled;
While in my hands, the sun is dead.

Crucified to the depths of sleep,
My spirit in secret cries.
And you alone have seen me weep
Without tears within my eyes.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle