A bright afternoon under a breathing tree,

Given life by the smile of the beautiful sun,

Imagining that I was time and time was me,

What power in my hands to define the meaning of life,

Yet made by One beyond my boundaries,

It’s no contest to believe I am more significant,

Without a connection to my ancient history,

Why do I fail to understand the horizon of my brevity,

A moment my pen gives life to my thoughts,

My eyes screamed the words of my heart,

As I beheld all creatures speak to my curiosity,

Fading away with the gripping hands of seconds,

Now let me count my walking minute,

As the hours hilariously whisper to my aging heart,

That I am living a clockwise life in a timeless world.