Confused

I sit here wondering when time will stop, and when it will begin
Sands dripping wet and sloppy into a spiraling drain
The beauty of it stained by the frothy bubbles circulating

hypocrites of reason they defy their own logic
It passes, it surrenders and it fights to stay put.
What love is this, that it aspires such fear
What anger is this, that it fills the happiness with foreboding
It just seems shadows in the mid day light
Dismiss them, ignore them, do not acknowledge.

There is hope in the passing strangers
their wonderful joy spreads the darkness thin
but they are fleeting, and they never stop long enough
Never long enough.

The clock holds still, joy seeps in
A stranger that passes too.  
It stays long enough for a bath of envy
long enough for a shower of certainty.

Let the floods begin
my raft of plenty is full
It shall pass, as it always does
When will time stop, and when will it begin.