Each day is placed within my hands.
Fleeting moments which slip away.
Often my fingers are busy, mundane duties demanding.
Hours sift through ….. and night is upon me.
Weary hands …..
with life’s most priceless treasure
Neither bought, nor sold.
What measures man’s life ?
Determines his worth ? What tilts the scale ?
Review yesterdays ... already forgotten.
Twenty-four hours slipped over life’s rim.
What remains of that day ?
What lies within your hand ?
Pleasures tarnish green.
Power spoils with time.
What remains to measure ?
Only that which is Eternal ... Flowing from the Soul…
There lies ... the