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Time Jogs

056/365

Time’s hands are not fleeting, yet the grip on Time slips away.
Dazed and forgetful the delightfully ignorant guards.
Time walks right by unnoticed, the master of stealth.
And all things wither waiting for whether Time will tell.
Moments are wasted saving resource for moments to come.
Resources go neglected, for Time’s words are final.
Time expects all to catch up, it’ll wait for none.
Erosion and crumbling infrastructure.
From buildings to dust, living to fertilizer.
The true power of the moving arrow is infinite beyond understanding.
The tower of then and now stands tall overseeing every second.
Time sits on its thrown, bleeding its immense influence waterfalls over all.
Its influence which reaches into the depths of perception itself.
Cruel time with its dark sense of humor.
It’ll patiently discipline another through years of dedication.
And after long enough, when Time is finished, no longer amused, it’ll attack.
And all that discipline will turn into aged madness.
Memories of this discipline, of friends and family will fade.
Because Time’s word is final.
And those glorious wasted moments, waiting for other moments will morph to regret.
Time will stare down and laugh at the poor choices.
At the wasted opportunities.
Time waits for no one, and affects all. Without bias, without prejudice.
Waste Time’s moments and expect Time to take what it has shared.