The necromancer of time edged towards
your being, lingering on the edge of nullity
it was nether a juncture of significance
or a moment of distinction it was just
in wanting of what you had time...

We waste its precedence, its meaning
that continues. It likes the unfulfilled,
those that mean mere insignificance's.
Neither a blip or a ripple in the arch
of realities continuation and they end.

It once was a pedestal of time, but looked
at the regression of our understanding
trying to lure moments back into being
even though they had dispersed into
the event horizon of our lives.

Pondering its view for a moment,
it fathomed the plausibility of obtaining
this wasted passing's. One touch would
appease its curiosity, Like a euphoric
juncture it saw for a millisecond everything.

But repercussions of what was taken radiated
in echoes not yet heard but would eventually
get louder the nearer he resonated towards its
moment.
The true lineage of their last moment stolen.

He then in his greed fathomed the repercussions
as that which was woven now tore, and the ripple
became a swell. With each reverberation he reeled
in each last breath contorted within himself. And it
was that which he was feeling scratching at time.

Wondering in-between the cracks, seeing what was
and oblivion. Each fissure hung in stars within his
sight, and a tear dropped and shattered in screams
of eons of lost reflections. He did not cry, he fed on
time but life was his undoing, his continuity now flawed.

Upon him a sense of unease as he felt what time had passed
was now an engagement he was late for. Like ash in a breeze
his features were scattered upon the eons of an unsatisfied
paradox. He was but wasn't and all those that weren't now were,
Time is eternal, life is finite, never mess as it will  knock at your door.