As We Are Now

I can see each passing second.
The long black hands are pointing fingers,
hardly giving you the time of day
as they systematically make their rounds.

I can hear each passing second,
it's a slow steady beat.
Each sound resonating off the curved glass,
becoming the rhythm of my life.

I can feel each passing second
with my youth slowly slipping away.
It is fading along with the sound of the ticking hands,
pointing out how we will never be as young as we are now.