I see time escape. 

From this view the sun is rising perfect just like the day before.

I see people coming and going, making their way into the World.

I see the steam rising up from my coffee disappearing into a sky much bigger than me.

I see ticking clocks.

I hear times impatient song.

An orchestra of chirping birds and crashing waves.

I hear people comparing and contrasting as they make their way into the World.

I hear the sound of my computer turning on.

Each key a tiny rocket ship making my thoughts tangible and taking them to galaxies undiscovered.

I hear ticking clocks.

I feel time’s tough Love, the coolness of the breeze against my skin.

I feel people’s uncertainty and their hope as they make their way into the World.

I feel the paper between my fingers as i turn the page, converting stories to weapons tucked away for a future battle.

I feel ticking clocks.

If life is war, time is a mercenary, working for you and properly compensated or against you when neglected.

And the way I see it, there are two approaches to any predicament.

Add your solution or subtract your problem.

An invigorated soul has withdrawn.

Detached from all the does not empower ,walked away from everyone standards and expectations but their own.

See, ticking clocks are individualized symphonies.

They blend into the background and become the cadence to your triumphant march.

When you have immersed yourself in that which you love.

Time is your heart beat.

And when you have not, it’s a subtle warning sign whispering of roads untravelled and gifts unopened.

Singing reminders that you must realign.

The time can’t be stockpiled or saved.

It is loyal to no person.

When you find yourself fighting to remember how precious the moment or beautiful the day, it’s not a lack of time, but a lack of direction.

You’re fighting an enemy that would become an ally for the small price of passion and clarity.

That’s the North Star to be followed.

Because beauty is seeing ticking clocks.

Not as the dwindling resource but as the flowing river.

And happiness is hearing ticking clocks.

Not as a finite melody but as the breeze that you are back as you float downstream.

And perfection, perfection is feeling ticking clocks.

Not as an obligation or imposition but as but once-in-a-lifetime journey.

A metronome for you to compose your masterpiece.

Give a pulse to that which hides away in your soul waiting to emerge.

It is anything and everything, seeking your direction, one second, one thought, one breath at a time.