A quick poem about time itself and how it both gives and takes away. Philosophical.
Time is borrowed, stolen and being
It hangs on our wall and it swims in our hearts
Time is a wingless thing
Where our dreams may get their start.
Time is a fluid warrior, who roams on Creation Sand
It always looks and sees, but never stops for any man.
Its not that we aren’t important
Its not that we don’t belong.
Time is our strange guardian
That flows along to every song.
As our clocks hand life to eternity
And our loved ones say goodbye
We wait on the foggy mountains
Trying to understand why.
Sometimes it seems like nothing, a pitiless black void
A thief that steals us out of the light and leaves us blind.
But we know not of eternity, and will be so overjoyed
When time sends us on the journey where its rules will never bind.
That place where the clock sits still
Is waiting and will always be
That place where no dream is killed
Is waiting for you and me.