The Clock

The hands of time we long to control

To go back and play a different role

With forethought and a dsciplined mind

More thoughtful and more kind

But this can never be true

For time, has its hold on you

For each moment, there is no return

Each word is out, to heal or burn

Actions now held to account

Loved ones gone, no longer about

Time are you cruel or kind?

Precious or a waste of mine?

You force my hand to slow my pace

You remind me life is not a race

You anger me!

We’ve no hope to be free

We must surrender and we must pray

That the morrow be a better day.

Respecting the hands on the old the clock

Singing to the rhythm of each tock.