What is time, but an accursed gift?
Dictating your life, right from your wrist.
Be it slow. Be it fast.
Time can never be within our grasp.
How foolish is man? How foolish am I?
Sitting there idly, as time rushes by.
Waiting for no man, certainly not me.
No backwards glance. Have we ceased to be?
But tonight is different. Tonight he’s mine!
Stuffed with memories, I watch him unwind.
He remains silent; for once he’s stood still
As I show him my life, against his will
Walking this path, stories emerge.
They rain down joy, these clouds of words.
The Sun is keen to point it’s rays
In order to give the shadows a chase.
But the path up ahead, is clouded with mist.
Somehow or other, the road took a twist
Never forgotten, nor ever remembered
Simply deserving, to be lamented
Walking this path, stories emerge
Stuck in a book that’s read in reverse
Looking over my shoulder, Time has gone
Only I had been frozen.
Whilst time had been running
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