I stand on the brink of twenty one,
after a revolution around the sun,
My sister has left, her bird has flown,
and soon the time will be my own.
Three sixty five in a year,
the end of the runway draws near,
so throttle to max, spread your wings
and soar into the sky, from where the future springs,
One fifty days, till I’m of drinking age
five and twelve, till the next class
eleven hundred, and I’m earning my wage
fifteen thousand, into retirement I pass.
The honest clock of time,
ticks each minute away,
and eventually chimes,
for the end of today,
but make no mistake,
the clock dulls your sight,
your time sense is fake,
as your weeks take flight.
Day past day, your eyes blur
as life racks you anew each week,
for seconds and days slur,
until your time is bleak.
the moment is now,
and already a second past,
you reap what you sow,
so you’d better act fast!
To my fellow brethren in college, I write this to remind myself of what phase I am in life. It’s without doubt that time will carry on rolling, without the least concern for individual or group, and we mortals are but swept up in its tide. Looking back, I can recall many a fond memory from past to the present, and now we are but two and a half months from the end of this year, and in less than a mere 20 months we’ll be graduating and going further on in life, to either higher education or employment. Time really does fly, doesn’t it?
See you all next week, and remember, objects in front of you may be closer than they appear.
Singing off, ♪♫♪