Time is an artist.

It paints smiles upon our faces,
Embroiders memories in our mind,
Stitches scars upon our skins,
Often cruel and seldom kind,
Endless greed abound,
It gives less than it takes,
It's hunger never saited,
It mends less than it breaks,
Smiles wash away,
Happy memories fade,
Wounds running deeper still,
For our trust in time betrayed,
Though our reactionary anger rages,
It's immense heat is but brief,
Because soon we fall back in love,
With time, the entropic thief,
It gives gifts of new days,
And our hopes again do swell,
That this time will be heaven,
And not just another hell,
Such naive fools,
To believe an indifferent being,
To the past we run for comfort,
Always from our futures fleeing,
Attempts to escape out traumas,
Falling and failing in our humility,
Like lemmings to the cliffs,
Distracted by bright possibility,
We strain and struggle always,
Trying to come to grips,
To the fact we cannot keep alive,
Those momentary blips,
Nightmares reoccurring,
Fueled by our lofty ambitions
We forget that pain and loss,
Are part of times terms and conditions,
Lost souls stuck in a cycle,
Tired, ragged, and wary,
Life is the name we give,
To all the baggage we carry.