Flintstone kid

If we knew before hand what laid ahead for us in life, we probably would not be in a hurry to grow up. The beauty of childhood is that you have not yet been tainted by life experiences, you've not met those people that make you question the inherent human condition, in childhood there is still some wonder, some mystery in life. Alas, nothing is permanent but time, and as time trods on, so do we, mysteries of childhood unravel, we meet despicable people and we begin to wonder about our purpose in this world, why life. Occasionally, we wish we were children again and never had to grow up.

Time

Milliseconds sprints to seconds, you miss them in a blink,
Seconds into minutes, these precious minutes but a moment, gone
Ticks into hours, the hours never seem enough as they roll into days
Days rush by into weeks, one week seems so long, they signal the end of months
Months leaps into years, the years hurry by
And as we look back on the time gone before our eyes, we pause
We wonder, where has all my time gone, look back at the troubled years
Problems so daunting and smile, time like everything else is relative
Everything is temporary in the infinity of time