Hands of Time

The hands of time have lost their grip.
My precious youth I'm letting slip.
Where actions seems to forward pace,
I find that slow can't win the race.

Yet slow does seem opposed to risk.
What care can we learn from the brisk?
I don't supposed they turn to see,
The darkness stalking the absentee.

And maybe life has taught me tricks,
Of how to break and how to fix,
Of what is right and what is wrong,
And how things short can seem too long.

But time must laugh with thought and worry,
As life goes by and people hurry.
For now I'll wait with all my patience,
Until fate finds me or I find complacence.