Impressions of Time
In the sands of life, we walk alone,
Leaving impressions cut in stone.
Each step we take, an imprint we make,
A way we pick, a day to day existence we stake.
Time moves quickly, never still,
It curves to neither power nor will.
However as it streams, it shapes the ground,
Where reverberations of our means are found.
The minutes lost, the minutes acquired,
All carved in time, a past supported.
Every impression recounts to a story told,
Of dreams we pursued, of hands we hold.
A few stages are light, with bliss and elegance,
Others weighty, leaving follow
Of weights conveyed, illustrations learned,
Of extensions constructed and spans consumed.
However, time, however transitory, can’t delete,
The engravings left in each spot.
For in each step, we abandon
A heritage inside the brain.
The impressions blur, the sands might move,
However recollections rise, similar to winds that lift.
For time might elapse, yet what remains,
Are effects had through euphoria and agony.
So as we walk, we should step with care,
For time is valuable, minutes uncommon.
Also, when our excursion’s at its end,
Our impressions will on others depend.
Comments