Time is never wasted,
because in its entirety
it is nothing other than a gift.
People speak, lips move
And spirits breathe out
Through lived realities unshared.
Glimpses and mysteries, though some bore,
Are always a privilege;
Encounters with another.
My world spins on within my soul;
What might others glean
Of all that I hold most dear?
Do I ramble on, meanderingly long?
Am I useful, honourable, a blessing?
Does my king shine through?
For, after all, this Time
And these encounters,
Are his gift to us of that strange thing called Life.
Written on September 20th 2018