A Sonnet, Measure For Measure

I pick them up to examine, one by one, Those faraway days that now mesmerize me, Like long-lost treasures hidden deep in the sea. Could it be that my days are finally done? Just yesterday, when life had barely begun, Young and bored, I dreamed that in time I'd be free; But now, mired in remembrance, where is the key To unlock the past's iron grasp? There is none. Hands clasped on my chest, I measure time gone by In days, months and years, but the tally's the same, Whatever the size of the measuring stick. Though I knew long ago the years would fly by, Time's wind blew right through me, and left as it came, For life’s just a bubble that death will soon prick.