The unseen passage

Sugary white sand
flowing through the hourglass in my hand
the passage of time is unseen by any
and yet felt by so many.
The bittersweet lines on your face
that come with experiences you cannot erase
or the withering body that youth has fled,
the unseen marching of time we do so dread.
No man can stop it, or slow it down,
it flows as the tide in which we drown,
a glistening stream of sweet, refreshing drink
that only all too late causes us to think
about the steep price we pay
to live to see another day.
Yes the passage of time is truly unseen
but will murder beggars and queens
in equal measure to be sure,
time moves forward forever more.
A cruel but necessary evil we must trudge
until the day we go before our final judge,
and reap our final accolades
that time has ultimately paid.
Time may seem slow to the young,
but to the older is feels like being hung,
a slow suffocating grip around the throat
until at long last your buderns you do not tote,
the unseen passage setting you free,
the unseen passage of you and me.