Time chased through
a weather-vane of grand illusions
and half seen promise.
I'm late for a very important date,
missing it by degrees
when it does appear,
through brightly clearing mist.
Time is fleeting,
running out,
a scarce commodity.
If there is a time for everything,
why do I not have enough of it?
I work from pressure,
not peace,
unable to give extravagant gifts
of time to others,
as I count my purse of precious minutes.
Is time really ticking away,
or do I just misunderstand
the truth about eternity?
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