Time Is Money Poem by James Campbell

Time is money,
or so they say.
But yet can money,
buy time the same?
The answers no
Yet I can see,
without that money
time ticks painfully.

In this regards
the clock is rich.
But upon the wall
that clock sits.
Counting minutes
as it sits there.
The clock spends time
without a care.

To live your life
without that fear,
of the time
when bills draw near,
Is to what we all aspire.
Yet we're all drawn
to our own desire.

Should we choose
to quit the game.
What in return
would we gain?
A glimpse of life?
A snatch at joy?
Before we realize
life's cruel ploy?

So when I look
upon that clock,
I wonder if,
it will ever stop?
It's had it's time,
won't it stop counting?
Won't those seconds stop amounting?

The answers no.
Time is cruel.
It only lives
to a single rule:
That every hour
we watch pass,
cannot return
from our past.

So if you're sitting,
and time is passing.
Try and spend it,
with another laughing.
Because time is money,
and I can see,
Joy is its currency.