When I opened my hand, there was nothing but sand falling between my fingers. When I opened my eyes, there were nothing but lies…washed away in tears.
The moon was robed, dim but bright,
her smile cold, soft pale light,
and I was worn, without might.
The sea will ever be the sea
though tide come in or out;
the sands are always shifting sands—
my time is running out.
Should all of life be but a dream that death shall wake me from, or all of death but darkened sleep in which no light shall come, I know I’ll sail under the moon, my name written in sand.
Tale Told 