🔵 By Daniel Hoeve-Chavez. Photo by lauragrafie.
The almost hollow sounding thud,
produced by the sounds of time reaching the bottom of the hourglass,
projecting dreams as faint memories in the night,
as a poor attempt to find the dagger that went missing,
only to replace the knife in my heart,
The songs played by the sands of time strike notes that leave me adrift,
pulling me back to the place from which I came,
wandering aimlessly,
up to no good,
I stuck out on the block like a mailbox with its flag up,
using spray paint to mark the walls with urban hieroglyphics,
I fell in love with the hood,
sold drugs in the hood,
even bust guns in the hood,
I am a product of the hood.
Look into the sand storm and turn times glass,
you will see the pain in my eyes,
you will see the streets deceit and lies,
you will see the unspoken evil that touched another youths mind,
corrupted by gangs and the ignorant passion of thug pride,
To really understand the sands of time,
is to realize who you are today and from where you came,
to know in the back of your mind that the world pays no mind,
the toxicity our youth are exposed to,
the influence of different cultures glorifying what you shouldn’t do,
the fact that you reach out but they look the other way it seems untrue,
a true sand storm,
there is no other way to describe it,
the burn pulling at you in every direction,
you create your past, future and present,
you are the sands of time …