Its boundaries same to all yet varying in displacements

The universal factor condensing in its form

For a wary student in class, very slow

For a lad asleep on the hay, too fast

A realign of composure ordering man’s events into play

For the hawker, an endless trek of shouts, sweat and pain

Hoping at sun down, the pain would be repaid in gain

Each hour counting, history’s witness, penning issues deemed fit

Its entity relies on no stance

It regards no opinions for it is set like the rising of the sun even the seasons to reap or sow

It determines what tides are turned; and authority in itself

It shows no favours
Accomplishments are noted as a virtue of wisely turning time

Wasted nights, unclaimed prizes, a teary eye, stiffed pride

Daunting reminders of wages gotten from cheating time

Regardless of wishes, time once passed could never be reborn

It would be as futile as pushing back a shot bullet to cock a gun

Each minute a precious gift given to treasure

A mighty feat will be managing time to reap its bliss

Time misused could replicate thousands of skies heavy with fountains of regret

Pouring down with no shade to hide from the effects of being drenched in sorrow

When tomorrow hits the band-wagon of yesterdays

It is claimed time as way-laid by misfortunes of mistakes

The future duped by procrastination’s mob raping the essence of today’s success

A probable result of yesterday’s indulgence.


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