Time, as we know it, goes so fast. When does a life become more than a shadow in time?

Beauties that were never witnessed by them.Flavors never tasted by their own tongue.Aromas not inhaled by their essence.Melodies that were better left unsung.A whisper in the darkness of the night,Fleeting moments of triumph felt within.A sensuous touch that might not have been,Sweeping memories that engulf thy sin.Prying eagerly against the spirit,Shadows that dance among the searching mind.Seeking solace against time’s raging storm,Entities that dwelt along a life time.Are we but shadows dancing in epoch?Do we push against the strong hands of time?Can the shadows of our own mortal fleshStand for something more than a pointless rhyme?