An invisible column
Of faceless soldiers.
Marching silently,
As if a great spell has been cast upon them.
Stopping only to fire the occasional shot,
Strike down a man who has lived his life
Beholden to their pace,
Their rules,
Their demands.
Moving in perfect,
Endless,
Cold synchronization.
Each step a deafening tick,
At perfect intervals.
Men will try to flee the column,
They always have.
But there is no escape,
It finds us all,
Wipes us from this earth.
It can’t be harnessed,
It won’t be controlled,
It answers no master.
Faceless,
But with a million faces.
What a beautiful thing time is.