Borrowers of Time

We don't own anything. The petaled glade or ocean tide. The mighty mountain or lonely stream. We're just one grain of nothing on an eternal beach. Borrowers of time we are. Life is a blessing, but we own only-memories and death. Don't fret over or material things, everything's temporary. Even skyscrapers and pyramids break apart-eventually. Pay no heed to what you want, it's all about the need. Now you're in the foothills of your final breath. The machines of man sprouting from your chest. A million regrets whipping inside the head. Your only companions are all... what ifs. As you approach the final hours of a half-wasted life. You become just another stray, meowing for one last crumb of time.