The Hands of Time
I will soon die
by the hands of time.
for there is no escape
from grandfathers chime.
The pendulum swings
Precious moments flash by
Past, present, and future
Right before my eyes
Measuring my days,
the arms of this clock
with its infinite grasp
continues-tick tock
I’m unable to stop
Its springs and gears
The cuckoo strikes
And gone are my years.
My last hour has passed
And the minutes have stopped
a few final seconds
and my life is dropped.
A split second later,
some distant womb is torn
and from a new mother
another life is born.
The pattern repeats itself
Over and over again.
This is the way it is
and how its always been.