Day old flies

The ticking can be deafening for some,

Exhilarating some,

Bothering some,

Bothersome.

And so Finiteness,

Makes the clock tick louder.

It makes me uneasy to comprehend,

My time here is finite,

My days numbered.

And such the gravity gets louder.

The finiteness is blinding,

Much rather wish in the infinite

Just hope for more time, 

More time before my eventual demise.

And yet ever so finite is this life I call mine.

I want to achieve,

Make a difference here,

In the land, seas or skies,

Makes me ever want to hope,

I make a difference here,

Therwise what difference is there?

Between me and those day old flies.