Capturing Time

Here's the reality that's seldom unsaid:

That Time is a rarity that's fleeting like sand

Through an hourglass, ticking away

Like the hands of a clock, too fragile to stay

Where we want it. It slips through our fingers,

Always retreating, though it seems that it lingers

In the places we never thought to expect

It to be. It’s rare now that we find or accept

That Time is a diamond not easily kept

In the place we hope to guard it. Except

In spite of this we all bear the scars

Of trying to hold on to Time that’s not ours

And squandering that which is most precious.

Yet often we think of Time being obsequious

To our schemes. That we have plenty of that

Which we cannot see. And at the drop of a hat

Time will stand still and grant us our wish to return

That which we’ve lost. In the end, we all yearn

For Time to be common and easy to find,

But reality, it seems, is never so kind.