There isn't enough time, not in this fleeting breath,
To read every book that sits on my shelf,
Pages unopened, stories still untold,
A thousand worlds that I may never know.
The poets I’ve yet to meet in quiet verse,
Their words like stars I’ll never see up close,
Constellations lost to the limits of my sight.

Nor is there time enough to love as I should—
The people who pass like ships on distant seas,
Each deserving a moment, a touch, a word,
But I am bound by this mortal, measured clock,
My heart unable to stretch to meet them all.
I long to love them fully, deeply, true,
Yet some remain as strangers in the end.

And what of all the things I yearn to learn?
History’s secrets, science’s vast embrace,
Philosophies buried deep in forgotten lands,
Languages that twist like rivers through the mind—
All of them, vast oceans I can't explore,
For my vessel is too small, my compass flawed,
And the shoreline always lingers just beyond.

Then there are the ones I’ll never get to know,
The brilliant minds, the kindred souls out there,
Who walk their paths too far away from mine,
Their lives a distant hum I’ll never hear.
What conversations could have sparked like fire?
What laughter might have lit a darker night?
But we remain apart, in parallel lines.

And what of all the people I wish to write,
Those whose faces fill my heart like morning sun?
Not enough ink, not enough days or nights
To capture every glance, each quiet breath.
Some will fade, unpenned, into the haze,
Their stories untold, their essence left unsaid,
Because time runs through my hands like fleeting sand.

So here I am, a soul with endless thirst,
A heart that aches for more than I can hold—
And yet I know, in all I cannot touch,
There’s beauty even in the things unknown.
For in this finite life, we love, we strive,
And in the limits, we learn to truly live.