Divisions Of Time:

Is it the Sun that winds the clock
Or the clock that moves the Sun,
Or the workings of a higher power
That make our days come undone.

For time's but a collection of seconds
To the moving endeavors of eternity,
The shifting sands of uncertainty
And the foundation of all prosperity.

It's a thin line between past and future
The overexposure of our presence,
The progression of our livelihood
Maturity to our expanding existence.

It's the substance of things to come
The stillness of what's left behind,
The blueprint of right here and now
Consequences that age our mind.

It's the calculation of borrowed space
The divisions of everything everywhere,
It's the unravelling travels of the Sun
Those clock hands that constantly stir.

It's those perimeters of our pathways
And the synchronizing of those ways,
Our countdown to a fresh tomorrow
The decline of our used up yesterdays.