Two times the home.

Two times the home,
Stepping stone or the end?

And time picks you up like a babe just born,
enveloping you in the shards of creation.

Frequently one would pick the closest line of conversation,
and cast away the things that aren't really needed.

And the shards are plucked into gems of distinct shape and shine,
glass, mirrors, and all made of sand.

This sand will slip through your fingers, time and time again,
as you try to hold on to something, that exists.