Selling Time, Buying Fate

In sunlit vaults, where moments turn to sand, 
We barter dreams with whispers of command. 
Time, our currency, a fleeting golden rain, 
Exchanged for destinies, etched in shadowed vein.

The clock smith smiles, his eyes ageless pools, 
Reflecting futures, promises, and fools. 
He weighs our minutes, maps of hope and dread, 
Each tick and tock a whisper, "What is said?"

For fame's bright glare, we'll trade years spun with gold, 
A tapestry of comfort, bought and sold. 
For love's warm fire, we'll yield the twilight hush, 
Mortgaging moonlit strolls, a tender brush.

But woven threads can fray, and gold can rust, 
And love's sweet embers turn to barren dust. 
The sands we spend may bring regret's sharp sting, 
For stolen futures leave the present, bare and thin.

Oh, can we buy the sun's eternal kiss, 
Or cage the wind, a captive in our fist? 
Fate's fickle game, with fortune as its bait, 
Leaves whispers echoing, "Is it ever late?"

Perhaps the truest bargain lies not in the trade, 
But in the mindful touch, the moments made. 
For time, once bartered, cannot be retrieved, 
Yet savored, nurtured, it becomes conceived.

Let seeds of laughter bloom in every hour, 
Let passion's torch ignite each passing shower. 
In threads of presence, weave a tapestry unseen, 
A fate unbought, a future ever green.

For in the present's breath, lies freedom's chime, 
A symphony unspoken, beyond space and time. 
So, dance with minutes, sing with every sigh, 
Embrace the now, where true destinies lie.

So let the vaults of fate stand empty, grand, 
While we, the poets, paint the living land. 
With brushstrokes of the heart, let futures rise, 
Where selling time is folly, living, the true prize.