When just the other day we didn’t have enough time

now today, we certainly do,

yet then again, if I were given a way,

or just given away,

I might find my time to be rather, quite, well, so delightfully

immeasurable.

Time has a way of allowing our lives to become necessary,

when we glance toward the evening and recognize a few short hours

before sleep begins to suggest,

I will make you hurt in a few hours, if you won’t allow me

rest.

Musical beats that ask for rest stops are always intriguing,

for where else can you notice there is mandated an exercise

in futility, for without that brief respite, the rhythm will certainly

disappear.

In moment to moment, our lives are driven by the natural

course of our reality, whatever path we choose,

if we lay back, the moss of nature’s compass,

slowly takes root, our path now dressed in beauty’s essence.

Yet, plodding on as the human condition wears a streak

of reality upon any manner of earth’s soil.

When moment to moment our desires to strive come alive,

perhaps we might reflect upon the soil our lives depend upon.