It's Time

We have none to lose
Yet, it slips away
 
When most kinetic
In jubilant high spirits
It slips between grasp
Like pouring sand
 
Prying my own hands open  
To lose my miser's cloak
 
At peak's potential
Yet it trudges onward
With seconds saturated  
Scraps go to the dogs
 
Stay vigilant in panning
This eternal river for gold
 
Some days, perfume  
Wisps that float by
Brushing into us  
With memories  
Like close embraces  
Mixed with soft lips
 
Other days, stenching
A cruel taskmaster  
Under whose thumb  
We wish to be free
 
Numbering our days
Whether count towards escape
Or pass bittersweet tears  
Like goodbyes to an old friend
Our eyes reflect our time