What is time, but a fleeting thought,
A shadow cast from what we sought?
It moves in silence, yet loud as a bell,
A mystery none of us can quell.
We search for meaning in the endless sky,
As planets turn and stars drift by.
Is life a dream, or a truth untold?
A fleeting spark in the dark, so cold.
The rivers of time twist and bend,
Each drop a beginning, each drop an end.
Do we create the path we walk,
Or is it written in the stars we stalk?
In the silence, we find our voice,
A whispered question, a desperate choice.
To live, to dream, to understand,
The answers slip like grains of sand.
Are we but echoes in the void,
Lost in the noise, forever annoyed?
Or do we create the world we see,
In the image of the soul, wild and free?
