The Man of the Hourglass

The man of the hourglass walks alone,
With a hand of gold and a heart of stone.
The man of the hourglass knows his role,
That the character he plays has a life that he stole.
But in the snow, with the storms becoming furious,
He merely sits there; of his life, he is curious.
A look at his watch and he can tell,
Just how much longer until he must go through hell.

As he wanders through the frost,
The man of the hourglass can see,
That no matter where he walks, he is lost,
And he knows well of the line that was crossed,
That was between the mountains and the sea.

Hours have passed, he can feel,
That the time on his watch showing much is left,
Has been broken, leading for time to reveal,
That what he feared most was at the end of his deal,
And that the line crossed was a boundary overstepped.

Waiting in the winter night,
He faces self-judgment of his life,
With mind versus mind being the fight,
With right barehanded, wrong with the knife,
The two do battle; one will see the light,
The other wonders of the mistakes that are rife.
But even in victory, the man will ignite,
And in his victory he will thrive.

The man of the hourglass lives no lie,
Even as he waits on the ground to die.
The man of the hourglass lies still,
At the foot of the mountain, at the end of his will.
In the middle of the storm, his eyes grow dark,
And he sees a light; a brand new start.
The man of the hourglass can see above,
That finally, it is he who has found love.