Poem: Facing Time

Facing Time

Time stands before me,
not a clock,
but a quiet question
asking who I will be.

It moves without rushing,
a river that never looks back,
carrying echoes of laughter,
unfinished sentences,
doors I once hesitated to open.

I face it with pockets full of seconds,
some wasted,
some saved like smooth stones,
some still sharp with fear.

Time does not threaten—
it simply waits,
patient as a horizon,
honest as a mirror.

I learn that facing time
is not about winning or losing,
but about standing still long enough
to choose how to step forward.

So I breathe,
and let the moment see me—
uncertain, growing, alive—
and walk on,
not ahead of time,
not behind it,
but with it.