Is Time really in our Life,
Is it just something in our mind,
A tool of Strife
Or just something to hide behind?

Is Time a matter of counting,
Waiting for the end to come?
Can we take it from the hands that continue spinning,
Only to turn to bone is that what what we’re supposed to become?

The Old watch the clock with eager eyes,
As Young gaze upon the old to say good byes.
Yet Time goes on as the Old watch Young men die,
Oh how the cruelty of Time is unmatched to the innocent, told awful lies.

Sickness weaken the body
Yet Time does not care.
It only wishes to see this suffering, ever so hungry.
A wounded soldier will lay, as that is all he will dare.

However, Time has a soft side.
To let a mother watch her child grow
Watching their every stride,
Kindness lives in all, this I do know.

Though Time is hurt, all the same.
To watch Life’s creation be lied to by their creator
And be the one to continue the game
Only to help Death beat the slanderer.

So again, Is Time really in our Life,
Is it just something held in our mind,
A brilliant tool of Strife,
Or is just something to hide behind?