Day 8

Watch

Time, ticking infinitely--
Innocent and indiscriminate,
Regardless of your wealth, health, or status,
Those hands will spin, rapid,
More each day you know you waste,
More with each regret, all your self hate
Is burning your wick down, a temporary place
Conceded to losing a diminishing race.

Except, when you break free,
An understanding: time doesn't create peace
Instead, a separation from those changing hands
Will calm the storm inside your head.
Whether you waste ten, one hundred,
One million days before you're dead,
You'll always have another chance
This moment, so own it, or lose again.

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