Twenty-four searches for foundation rock have left me with nothing but sand. Pockets full, but curved glass not quite, I dropped my hope in the midst of the strife. Pour from above into basin below, measure by grains my moments of living. Fly by birdie bye, accompanied by time or break into habits of doing. But I’ve done my best to do even less than the little it would require.
Twenty-four deserts could never contain the minutes lived by the bold and the brave. Survived by tales of ventures and war, of love and sorrow and mercy and trust. Immortal in this time, they used their's for change. Break down and break out of temptation laze.
Twenty-four tries might be too few to accomplish the goal we still pursue. But do all you can and time will tell, “This is the way to use me well.”
Twenty-four hours are never enough, till the time you let them be. Shatter glass with pendulum swing, and take new shards of eternity. Illusioned men let slip their grip and meet death before true birth. Yet wisdom notes time’s passing and still dictates its worth.
