Time and time alone is the master of mankind. Time is a gift- and I feel close to him now.
Where to even begin. It is with great necessity that I dare even broach that which cannot be seen nor caught, nor easily measured; but in the rise and fall of kingdoms, healing of mortal wounds and his closeness to me now.
Seconds, minutes, hours, hold life like a vice. His starkness blacks and whites hung squarely above a chalkboard with his rules never erased, no matter the extraordinary explanation.
Adolescence willing him forward to no avail and wisdom backpedaling the wheel fruitlessly. We are all pitched headlong into the madness we pleaded for. If only we knew.
At its kindest, providing brief respite in the minutes between the ages, knowing of love and triumph- carried wistfully on high sea winds and held in a smile.
Time. That Bastard. Flagging you down, when he comes to a screeching halt hand and hand with his lover darkness, you know the moments – the ones where we can’t breathe for loss, and fury, and death. Yet we all bow. Whether on bended knee or from the weight of the world on our shoulders, or from the absence of Time. We all bow.