The day starts in a void 

The busyness takes my joy 

A mentality of lack 

Another row of calender blocks sacked 

I’m racing when I don’t want to

I’m snapping like a turtle 

The grave is the finish line we’ll all succumb to 

Every conversation is a hurdle 

Time is insufficient 

I’ve spent it on things I wish I didn’t 

How do I make more?

Can I stick some in the drawer?

I’ll tell everyone to come back later 

But we all know time is not there 

It’s only here 

For a second and then it disappears 

I fear I’m inching closer to the grave 

To the moment when all the time has gone away 

The only way to make more time, I can figure

Is to use the scissors 

Not to be a snapping reptile 

But to slice all the excess and put it in a pile 

Ah, to get good with scissors 

Hands that gesture “No”

And competing pursuits that have to go 

Ah, for conciseness 

Superior than being known for niceness 

For the clock’s face to still have plenty of space 

For each moment to never be a waste

To hold and to have – the intangible, the never understandable – time