Time has no tie with misery.
Never reaching that beleaguered deep,
Poignant down its channel incessantly,
Flowing past whoever is there.

A sea time is, not a river
Receiving all that was and is to be.
The mind is the vehicle that moves across the story,
Pursuing the wind upon its magnificence,
Sketching one’s destiny through the will.
As years glisten in their sunken perpetuity.
Of course, the problem is identity
Possessing the notion that we are liberated.
Bear in mind that the Earth does not appear round
And the sun sinks slowly towards the ground each eve,
Just as we opt to take our tea. But your time your treasure; How you keep it your preference. Take heed