Monday Poem: Sand Through Fingers

Sand Through Fingers

Cupped hands hold dreams
that sand through fingers
like clouds across your night time skies.
Turning, you reach out
to hold onto a single cloud
that will blanket you
until morning defeats your peace.

But it is gone, far our of reach now,
as you chase on through your night
across fields, through woods and on
down the long winding corridors of memory.
Opening too many doors
on secret rooms you kept dark
for far too long.