We all walk the same courses, in our lives from day to day

Familiar halls or driven roads or pathways made of clay

A melancholy comfort as we repeat our routine

Yet why are there so few who can see what it may mean.

Just like the clock on nightstand whose small seconds tick away

Each second like the one before in passing of the day.

And yet, for all their sameness, every tick and tock its own

We glue each one with memories to mark the way we’ve grown.

Can time be so important? Do we really need a clock?

The marks we leave on Time’s smooth slate, all that’s needed to take stock.

We count our years while tending to our own live’s hourglasses

Wondering if the stars enjoy the way on Earth life passes.

By James Geehring

From: United States

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