Ours, By Grace

As pennies to the pounds, bronzed and humble,

Subtle seconds ticking off the hours,

A minute’s magic may just make a lifetime

In smallest moments grasped, while here, they’re ours.

Tiny tickettes, talking as they tumble,

Piling up the chances, hand of grace,

Vaults of time, though miniscule, still potent

Tiny portents challenging each race.

 

Only This Second

Dreams unreal tomorrow holds,

No certainties, mere speculation.

Before us now today unfolds,

A brief tomorrow, in duration.

 

Only seconds, fleeting moments,

For use within our hands

To mould and shape, sweetly foment.

This at our command.

 

A vital second of each life,

Only one at just this instant.

Wasted, filled with endless strife?

Or rich with great intent?

 

What is right or wrong we glean.

Where do we want to be?

Have we slept another’s dream,

Their life, their fantasy?

 

Sustained effort, fortitude,

Decisions made, applied,

In such as this, portentous good,

Life is sanctified.

 

No mountain climbed for flag to post

Nor golden haloed wreath,

Fulfilment in what matters most,

Holding to belief.

 

Recognising small but wise,

All seconds clearly count,

They’re striven for, this amplifies

In worth by how they mount

 

In magnitude, their worth, their glory

Those moments every day

That build, arise like Taj, each story,

Monumental in their way.

 

A palace so, not vaulted tomb,

Royal beauty to behold.

Yarn chosen, woven upon each loom,

In all seconds, our stories told.