Time is of the plenty

Pain is but a word.
Like time is to the sand.

The hour glass, Half empty.
As we play the cards at hand.

Never would I question,
The lord about his ways,

Yet here I kneel before him,
To pray for brighter days.

Tomorrow is never promised.
Its a gift to be recieved.

A treasure to behold.
Its A dream within a dream.

This borrowed time
That we are given.

It seems to slip away.

For our life has been pre-written
and I'm just drawn this way.

The doctors say only months to live
So now the clock makes since.

Time is just a wishing well
Where all my times been spent.