O time, what a thing it is
Masterful and mysterious in all of its ticking glory
Never ceasing to stop, or pause for what anyone says
No mean bones, in fact, it can encase the occasional bells
Always there to unfold someones grand foretelling story
For the good and the bad, time doesn’t have preferences
Simply is thereby a witness or just to be
Constantly moving forward, but carrying past references
Sometimes for the people, the timing is glee
Not a healer nor a monster simply just there as a reminder
We beg for more of it
We beg for less of it
Though time does not seem to hear our sentences
Time is stubborn and won’t conform to seem kinder
Admirable for its unrelenting ways
So unchangeable, yet has seen everything change around it
Ever wonder what time thinks nowadays?
Whether a gift or a curse, it’s something that belongs to the Earth
One thing time will never do is quit.
The question is what do we do with it?