The Hours are Ours

The hours are hours my dear, and nothing more.

They tick away with the monotonous certainty of a measured and quantified drone;

plodding on in a somber procession,

never-ending as they urge us on to old age and dusty retirement homes.

But let's break from this desolate parade;

let's be free of the odious yoke of the clock.

Let's run free in the sunlight that is a life lived apart

from the reign of regulation and the tyranny of time.

Come with me

and find joy in the little things.

We'll walk every path we come across;

we'll stop and wonder at every marvelous work of art nature has to offer

and never give a care to how or when we will return,

or perhaps, if we ever want to.

We'll cross a thousand streams and see a thousand sunsets,

each one more beautiful than the last.

All the while,

your hand in mine,

we'll experience wonders which we had never before dared to dream.

Each step we take brings a new adventure,

each breath we breathe, new life.

We'll remember what it's like to live.

We'll remember what it's like to love without reserve.

We take our journey through the streets, to our homes;

it follows us so long as we allow it,

so long as we pursue it.

A life lived how it was created to be lived:

in love, in hope, without fear, through pain, through joy, through the dull.

The decrepit remains of a measured life fall by the wayside

as we stride on to a life lived in full.

Take hold of the life you've been given and make time the instrument of change for the better.

The hours are ours my dear, and nothing more.