Hour glasses stand at my shoulders,
weighting down at my heart.
Heavy as boulders,
yet as light as a dart.
Coming with the the parting of mist,
and the reading of the to-do list,
they tear the cover away showing the world is scary and raw.
With may be just, but defiantly cruel law.
With vulture claws and rat like limbs they sit,
making you think they crawled out of a pit,
but not diabolic is their start.
They sit on many shoulders, weighting down at the heart.
I don't think this poem turned out good.