Slowly flowing between my fingers
without desperation letting it pass
for there is no price to pay at last
and the bitter taste only lingers
for a moment and then goes fast.
It is only a season without time
a ticktack of days like a dream
glued one by one into a scheme
of a borrowed life I call mine
as I flow to the end of the stream.
But the glue that holds me here
becomes light to guide my soul
while the flesh brittle and old
will turn to dust and disappear
the who I am will stand and hold.