We often baulk when someone’s number’s called,
Go missing in our thoughts when the number’s ours
We try forging time like a signature,
Hoping our gifts outweigh reality
As our faults give way to who we are
And living life becomes a tragedy.
Time allows us ample means to rewind to see
Who we could have been, but can we still live satisfied
With who we are and the opportunities
We forsake to be justified by selfish rites, not piety?