The ticking hands Are like the magician's wand Stringing every move and thought You're such a pretty marionette
You would will time to slow down If you could But you miss the very point Of living
Those thin hands may tick and tock Your rapid breathings Equalling rushed actions And ultimately inconvenient choices And worn out lungs
Yet the moments will flow by Naturally and unfazed by your wishes Until you begin to value each one
Count not the seconds or minutes Let the ticking hands be For every drop of grain In the ancient hourglass clock Is a chance to truly be.
Image credit: Samer Daboul