Time

Time to go, time to stay, time to work, or time to play. There's either lots or not enough, it's scheduled or for it you're rushed. It can't go back, it cant rewind, it's of the essence, or on the line. Some times are right and some are not, time ticks and tocks and never stops. It must be spent, it can't be saved, though some invest it in great ways. It can be shared, or spent alone; it seems to fly, or drag so slow. It sometimes has you feeling pressed, or wishing it would never end. Sometimes it is lost, or even forgot, and in the most special moments, it comes to a stop. It is constant, a rythym, an unwavering flow; to be shaped, changed and formed from all it's been before. This gift measured out is so preciously sought, by men who've waxed old guard what time they've got. It has too been bestowed on the youngest of men, but is often forsook neath their unwrinkled skin. What a commodity, both endless and finite, by which man can recall every detail and highlight. So with each tick you've spent and each tock you've gotten, i ask what you'll do with the time you're allotted?