Time

Time is such a subtle thing
Flowing slowly towards its end
Slipping here and racing there
Frustrating some and obsessing others
Time is such a spiteful thing
Time seems long and unending when young
Fleeting and listless as days drag on
Staggering hastily towards dusk
Time seems to shorten as the days carry on
Minutes here and hours there
Are lost in its bending wake
Days race by
And nights are gone
The blink of the eye hath never held
Such unyielding power
Man has always quested a way
Past his own creation
To slip by
Or through
Or to
Time the unwavering oppressor
And here am I a sallow soul
A weary and ignorant passerby
Pondering here the ways of the world
The world that time holds in its hand
Time the malicious tyrant
That takes from all what all will lose
That strikes those down that fail to choose
That infuriates those who try to cruise
By in a life ruled by time
And there are those who try
Who try to thwart time
To relive days of valor and bliss
Of youth
Of age
Of recompense
Time cannot be broken
Until time runs its course
Time cannot be resisted
Until time has run out
Time will run its course
Despite the reeling destitute
Despite the seething public
Despite the failing republic
Despite the rising hate
Despite the dying humanity
Despite the death of love
Despite the end of compassion
Time will carry on
But what of time?
Of ticking clocks
Of falling grains of sand
Of flowing water
Of passing breeze
Time is but a visage
A way to end the things
Which all must pass away
But what of time?
A fleeting sight
A molded manifest in its might
Time is an illusion
And time has never been at all.