Ticktock goes my life,
and I worry in syncopation,
The moments turn into hours
and the clock continues on in blissful infinity.
But I question my allotment,
as if I have any control over a period, let alone an eternity.
I rush and rant;
looking forward and then looking back while I miss this moment completely.
And the clock on the wall silently nods.
RDS (c) April 20, 2020