Before the Sand Stops

Before the Sand Stops

Before the sand stops,

and the indrawn of life’s breath

is no longer heard.

Before the cessation of thought,

and the stiffening in the cold.

Before the eyes’ slow roll back,

and the final, keen fail of the organs,

in the bitter winter of his life,

within this expected altering of circumstances,

the wasted, wizened man,

with the bony and angular face,

prays for a loophole from death.

But there is none,

not even a painless one.

The swim to the farthest pool cannot be changed,

good health is now estranged.

No want of peace can be arranged.

This man, thin as a rail,

with skin that appears as wrinkled garments,

bears the ravages,

endures the vented lingering within the oxygen tent.

And inside the hourglass,

each grain is pulled toward the hungry base,

and like the last tick of a clock,

the sand will stop.

Linda Imbler

Linda Imbler has four published poetry collections and one hybrid Ebook of short fiction and poetry. Her newest collection, “That Fifth Element" is due out from Soma Publishing in early November. Her most recent publishing credits are at Ariel Chart, GloMag, Highland Park Poetry, Merak Magazine and Sparks of Calliope. She is a Kansas-based Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net Nominee. Examples of her work and links to all of her books can be found at

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