A cry sparks the chimes of one peculiar clock that measures not time but life.
The Timekeeper, not always called so, keeps watch from sundown to sundown.
It watches, almost poetically, like the shadow of a hawk, separating man and wife.
It filters not age nor gender, if needed be, perilous doom can find an unsuspecting town.
The keeper wears a face, blind in both eyes, yet sees when the time is near,
a career in what seems to only strike fear.
The keeper is a man, for we call him he,
but the keeper resides in all of us, or what we are soon to be.
He wears not a mask for he cannot he has but a skull,
foreshadowing our deaths but worry not it won't be so dull.
Death is in all of us and Death is his name,
sending one either to paradise or up up in flame.
Some will preach it while for others it is their bane.
However we must all return to from whence we came.
A thrill and joy it is to live, to be given the honour of experiencing such a journey.
A man lives perhaps to the age of eighty, a good age because he is useless around ninety.
For some, life is bliss. For others, life is unjustified misery... agony.
Humanity however hides them behind an obnoxious definition of equality.
Should we welcome Death when he knocks? Or would we all plead for a second chance?
Do we all live our lives with such uncertainty that we would change and better ourselves?
Or do we all lie to stay the grim journey to an uncharted realm?
Once upon a lifetime our souls inquire the intent of being, believing to find one definitive answer.
Humanity has ludicrously neglected to comprehend that life is sui generis.
We are boundlessly exceptional, life is what we make of it.
So do we welcome the Timekeeper? Should we fear Death?
That is up for the soul to decide, whether it has done what it has desired
or is simply too weak to endeavour anything at all.
In spite of this, a new family rises to the peak,
effortlessly dancing in the light, unafraid of any shadow, one that doesn't speak.
A taste of immortality, an unholy pleasure, the keeper craves the unassailable.
Per contra, even the perfect wall erodes in any timetable.
Immortality bears no resemblance to a life of utopia.
In quite fairness immortality is no different than the average voyage through time.
A Demigod suffers and enjoys complementary to the common man, with a slight multiplication of any event and the impression it leaves on our souls.
A man of amaranthine vigor too can yearn to be grey and old,
see himself to be eighty, perhaps even ninety,
for what are we after a certain amount of time
if not useless and undesirable.
Every man desires to become God yet in the act of becoming one realises it is not what was assumed.
Do we welcome the Timekeeper?
Yes, we do.
We greet Death like a long lost friend,
firmly holding his hand,
urging him to take us to lands far away.
Death has no filters. No age, gender nor morality.
Everything that has a beginning... must have an end.
Comments