Time seems tangible.
We grasp that of the present,
Hold on to the past,
And reach for the future.

But it most commonly is notorious,
For slipping away...

Unfinished business stacks high,
Reaching higher and touching the clouds
That hover above me,
Exalting themselves as higher,
More free,
Better.

But for now, I let the hands strike,
The numbers growing weary,

Cycles of the moon pass by,
Hands fly across the clock,
Swirling like a disk,
Riding the sky like a wave.

But I,
I am overboard.
Not in the sky nor land,
But sinking in the depths of the sea.

The worst part isn't the dew in my hair,
Or the salt in my eyes;
It's the fact that I don't even know,
I am drowning.