Ruthless
Time is not our master; it's our measure.
I watch the hands that sweep the face,
one second at a time.
While contemplating minutes passed,
they’re silent, as a mime.
The crawl of time is ruthless, and
considers others not.
Ignores life’s circumstances, plus
inhibits peaceful thought.
The mysteries of time abound.
All secrets so well kept.
I cannot understand its scope,
my reasoning, inept.
Time won’t move fast, it won’t move slow,
so steady is its pace.
Perception’s how it seems to flow,
its dust I can’t erase.
I know not when the clock will halt,
and move no more for me.
But when it does, I'll move into
The Lord’s eternity.
There are no days in God’s domain.
He measures time in love.
My journey ends when I’m secure
in His sure hands above.
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