When do we plan to "make up" for time lost?
Who do we plan to "borrow" time from
If no one owns it?
When do we "have" time for anything
If time was never ours?
Yet we try to lend these hours to money
Which we give to get the things
We can hold and, maybe, love
But the things of more importance
Like love and laughter
Disintegrate with each second hastily marching to our graves
Hence, life itself dies with the seconds passing
The seconds we say we "own"
To welcome us again at the marking of our tombstones
And the epitaphs will ask you,
"What did you do with the time you borrowed?"
Despite what is said, your ghost will NOT come
And reclaim those precious seconds lost
So, answer me this; when did you live?
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts in Bold Ink
PoetryDuring these teen years, I am at the door way between childhood and adulthood. As I take these baby steps, I don't ever want to leave behind pieces of me that I'm discovering, nor should I ever leave behind who I must always be. As I close the door...
