Time is finite like the sand
imprisoned in an hour glass.
I cannot do all I would like;
a few more grains and all is past.
Too many books, so little read;
too many dreams, so few fulfilled;
too many melodies still unheard;
too many choices – which to make?
The act of choosing pierces me,
like an arrow through a sparrow
swiftly falling from the sky,
born to soar and then to die.
If only I was single-eyed,
focused on essentials!
But if I choose the true and tried,
where is life’s adventure?
Copyright Dennis M. Cortes 2020