Hour End - Bullion Patch

Hour End - Bullion PatchBeneath the shroud of twilight's veil, A fleeting echo tells the tale. The clock breathes shallow, ticking low, As shadows stretch and candles bow. The sands cascade, their voice a hymn, A song of loss, a fading whim. Each grain descends, a life, a thought, Into the void where time is caught. A distant chime, a mournful tone, Reminds the soul it stands alone. What once was vast is now confined, The threads unravel, misaligned. No hand can halt this

swift and sly

This empty home in which I lay

One for the money

merging into a quiet abyss where time feels suspended

Golden hour

Care:  Before each refill

I count to eight

Now consumed

But as glasses grow empty and spirits run dry

A tapestry of falsehoods

If I had handled her with greater care

Includes Old Sport branded gift box with black velvet pouch and stainless funnel