It is a gift we all possess
Yet is seldom given
It has no pricetag
But it has a price
Yet it is priceless
We have plenty of it
Yet we have none
Or rather, we find comfort in telling ourselves that it has its own spirit that cannot be tamed
Yet it very gladly gives in to us when with conviction, we clutch its reigns
We celebrate its progress
Yet we mourn its inevitable end
It is our enemy
It is our friend
It is found between these letters, these words, these stanzas
Between each thought that formed these lines
Found in every day, hour that passes
Yes - it is the falling sands of Time.
Purchase "Unveiling" to read more of my poetry
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