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Abstract

rder="0" height="166" width="800"> </div> </div> </figure></iframe></div></div></figure>The remaining days of a life so numbered, one less with each rise and set of the sun, to count or not to count, no matter, as only the moment now is lived.Old age arrives uninvited, and not wish nor wail can slow its coming, but today, this day, if well-lived for others, and loved, will preside over ten thousand days before.Tis not the fault of life to fail the full advantage of a day’s remains, offered to all, here and now, within grasp to embrace, another moment given, turn not the charity away.How many hours yet to be, we cannot know, life gifts opportunity to all who breathe, a chance to live more lovingly, today, lest time lost to compounding costs of frivolous delay.One day the day will not be there.To say, “enough, enough, I have played enough”, too many the games of waste and want, and dramatic burden, as window

Options

dressings disguise insecurity; self-insistence hides simplistic truth.As seasons change, so can man, new leaves of green, decades to grow, not just to repeat, oh to see with clarity and grace, mistakes will teach but all for naught if lessons forgotten and pity sought.For many, a path of truth still waits, unknown, hidden by habit and fear of change, a walk of greater understanding, a way of freedom from desperate array and courage not yet claimed.Neither right nor wrong now matters the past, it was as it was, just that, just that, but now a choice in each new day spun, to exist and simply bear the brunt of prior days lived,orto grow and give, and not give-in, but rather to honor what time is given, to walk and speak with kinder intent, regardless of the past, to be a better person, now.Let it not be that our decades of painful learning have been suffered in vain.-© Randall Snyder</article></body>

Still Time

The remaining days of a life so numbered, one less with each rise and set of the sun, to count or not to count, no matter, as only the moment now is lived.

Old age arrives uninvited, and not wish nor wail can slow its coming, but today, this day, if well-lived for others, and loved, will preside over ten thousand days before.

Tis not the fault of life to fail the full advantage of a day’s remains, offered to all, here and now, within grasp to embrace, another moment given, turn not the charity away.

How many hours yet to be, we cannot know, life gifts opportunity to all who breathe, a chance to live more lovingly, today, lest time lost to compounding costs of frivolous delay.

One day the day will not be there.

To say, “enough, enough, I have played enough”, too many the games of waste and want, and dramatic burden, as window dressings disguise insecurity; self-insistence hides simplistic truth.

As seasons change, so can man, new leaves of green, decades to grow, not just to repeat, oh to see with clarity and grace, mistakes will teach but all for naught if lessons forgotten and pity sought.

For many, a path of truth still waits, unknown, hidden by habit and fear of change, a walk of greater understanding, a way of freedom from desperate array and courage not yet claimed.

Neither right nor wrong now matters the past, it was as it was, just that, just that, but now a choice in each new day spun, to exist and simply bear the brunt of prior days lived,

to grow and give, and not give-in, but rather to honor what time is given, to walk and speak with kinder intent, regardless of the past, to be a better person, now.

Let it not be that our decades of painful learning have been suffered in vain.