What does a man do with his time, when his time is meaningless?
When all the years of productivity, produces for someone else.
Fruits not eaten nor enjoyed seem to rot when put away,
For the promise of a future meal at a table you may not make.
How do you maintain a purpose, when you lose the sight of youth?
When your memories are dreamlike, and struggle for their proof.
When dreams intertwine with memories and the past it blends away,
And the plateau that you finally reach is just another dusty plain.
Confined upon the seas of time, this voyage we’re thrust upon.
Are we indentured to the helm of this mighty ship we’re on?
For billions seem to sail this line sans the few that drift away.
Who navigates the future, when the clouds block out the way.
What future shores do I hope to hear the crow call out to me?
When the journey nears completion, with no youth to reverie.
Will I come to on the beaches of a new and pristine land?
Or will the currents ferry me away, never to be seen again.