I cannot help but think of the time,
of the hours ticking by with every chime.
I can't help but notice all that I haven't achieved,
the minutes and hours always have me deceived.



I often ponder all the books I have not read,
of all the things I have not said.
I contemplate all the songs I have not sung,
and of all the slips of my tongue.




I muse over all the people I want to be,
over all the places I want to see.
I realise I'll never acquire all the skills that I'd like
because time is always ready to strike.



I think of all the time I've spent surviving
instead of living; all the times I said my dead soul wasn't worth reviving.
I feel that I have wasted precious years
simply drowning in my own tears.




Time is a mystery and must be well spent,
we should all remain focused on the present.
Take our dreams and make them happen,
otherwise our lives will become meaningless and misshapen.