The Pendulum Of Life Poem by bryan wallace

The pendulum in the clock of life
Swings it's slow metronomic beat.
The spindles wear and the oil of life thickens -
From life giving lubrication to sticky-deathly sludge
The mainspring unwinds - slowly but surely -
The clock slows and swinging pendulum stops short.
The clock of life is not an eight-day movement -
Predictable in it's workings and ready to be re-wound.
Once it stops it is permanent - never more to chime
The highlights of each passing hour of life.

Life is finite - like a broken clock -
Never more will our hands move or our heart beat
With the metronomic precision of a well oiled machine.
We have but finite time on this earth -
Each heartbeat, each swing of life's pendulum
Signalling our life drawing to it's final conclusion.
Do we want to spend our rapidly diminishing time
Staring at the clock face - watching slow moving hands -
Bored - waiting for the hammer to strike that final hour?

Or do we want to get up and get out and about -
To experience life - forgetting the swinging pendulum
Marking time as our life slowly draws to a close?
Think not of the hours of yesterday that we wasted
In procrastination weighed down with the cares of the world.
Think not of the uncoilling mainspring of life unravelling -
Worrying about how much longer it can last.
Our finest hour is not in the past -
Nor can we say for sure that it will be in the future
Our finest hour is right now - be sure to make it count.