Time, where does it flee?
I can’t seem to catch it;
the clock’s open hands play a trick on me.

Time unforgivingly commands,
and I listen.
Face down and submissive,
I march to its dictatorial beat.

Why does time, unbending,
control me?
Why aren’t I in the lead?
Time holds me hostage,
no matter the plea.

My time is levied;
I fear my deposits
in its unreturnable bank
are wrong.

But, time’s currency is lending.
Am I wasting its value on vapor,
a mere mist trending?

I worry. I question. I fret!
Am I investing the irretrievable in a regret?
How do I presently comprehend
if my time payment is spent
by what immortal life and light will have kept?

I’ll search outside time
to calculate the worth of time rendered.
Its measure can only be quantified
by a perfect, uninhibited inventor.

My mind, choked by the clock’s hands,
can’t understand
the glories of a time-freed splendor.

My time is limited;
I’m here but not remembered.
To the eternal good,
time’s glory will be tendered.

Will infinity permit freedom to try
what time here on this broken, cruel earth
didn’t allow before I die?

Exactly! The dilemma is plain,
and so is its solution.
Jesus, help me avoid
Solomon’s warning of vain time-dilution.

Lent time is an eternal creator’s grace,
offering vindication, despite mortal pollution. 

I’ll run out of time in this uncharitable age.
The only question is, dear Jesus, 
what priorities should I engage?

For after I’ve marched a lifetime to work, 
and given time its due,
I’d like to experience what true living is,
in a timeless freedom with You.