Fleeting Moments

Life's swift currents take their toll, Thoughts of moments lost, like papers' roll. I'm chasing time, yet feeling still, Not living life, just watching it fulfill. In rooms of quiet, papers strewn about, A bowl holds secrets, whispers without. The bed, a witness to fleeting dreams, Life speeds ahead, or so it seems. Hemingway's words echo in my mind, 'Am I living?' a question left behind. In the rush of days, nights' quiet shade, Do I grasp life, or let it slip away?