The ticking echoes softly, yet so near,
A whisper of the hours, crystal clear.
The day we thought was endless, bright with flame,
Now dims to dusk, the night calls out our name.
Time is short, a breath that slips away,
A fleeting guest that never learns to stay.
It dances on the edge of every dream,
A river rushing faster than it seems.
We chase it through the corridors of youth,
Blind to its swiftness, careless with the truth.
We fill our hands with moments, thinking them our own,
But time is short, and life is only loaned.









