In the waning hours of a borrowed dawn,
Time whispers softly, a fleeting song.
Once boundless and wide, now a precious thread,
Spun from the moments that lie ahead.
Where once it stretched as far as you could see,
Now counts each breath with stark urgency.
A river that once roared wild and free,
Flows gently toward an unseen sea.
Am I to be the witness on the shore?
Or dive into the current once more?
Shall I craft worlds from the sands of time,
Or walk the paths that others have lined?
To read, to dream, beneath the fading light,
Or pen the tales that illuminate the night?
Shall I follow trails where others trod,
Or blaze a path, a testament to God?
When sunset paints the sky with fire,
Is it enough to simply admire?
Or do I capture the fleeting light,
Crafting dawn from the depths of night?
Shall my days be counted by the suns I greet,
Or by the hearts that in my presence beat?
Do I count the embraces, tender and mild,
Or the laughter shared, the tears beguiled?
Is there a measure true for time so thin?
Not in the breadth, but the depth within.
For as the end draws quietly nigh,
I choose to live, not just to bide.
A creator of moments, a seeker of light,
Turning the pages where my passions write.
Each tick a purpose, each tock a song,
In the finite dance where my days belong.
Let time be measured in love and deeds,
In the pursuit of dreams, in planting seeds.
For as my twilight shadows cast,
I am the sum of each moment passed.
To witness, to create, to touch, to be,
In each counted second, I am finally free.
As time's sands slip, I grasp each grain,
A life well-lived, my eternal gain.
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