You don't have much time.
No one does.
Time has never been
willing to be had,
to be spent,
- squandered.

It is
and it was
and it will fully be.
While it is the dance of your heart
that is finite.
It is your breath that will one day
be spent.
And you will discover
the depth of your squander,
the extent of your last deficit,
while time will continue on
to its appointed complicity
with eternity.
And in that apt company
time will run
at the speed of the last light,
remaining exempt
from any desperate attempt
to hold it in check.

But in your allotted splinter of time
relish its flight
and the oh so magnificent sights
that life hands you
for simple delights.
And rather than raging
against the inevitable last night
you might find at last
it's alright
to let the last grains
trickle through
with a life-long, contented sigh
having found time
for each gifted
timely good-night.