Time loosely hangs on us

by a thread

every day, the thread becomes bare

and when we're forty,

it's closely slipping away.

When we could already

see our demise,

when we can imagine our deathbed,

the thread where the clock of time hangs

 

has slipped away.

 

The thread where the clock hangs on is our life. The hands of clock counts every second, minutes and days we live. Once we expire, the thread where the clock hangs has slipped away.

 

Time ticks fast. As each new year is welcomed with a big bang, and every old year we bid goodbye, we're not getting younger. Say your best wishes, despise what you despise, tell your parents you love them. Give support to your chiildren, have a religion. Cos one day, it will all be gone.

 

 

Follow my blog: lettersfromsanjuan.wordpress.com

 

 

 

 

Published by Joanne Giselle Degamo