He walks, he strolls, he runs.
With varying paces he controls everyone’s existence.
Clocked with age, hooded with hatred,
Shredded and withered is the cloth which entangles him,
A dark, unwanted figure,
Lurking, waiting.
Humanities’ burden on his shoulder,
Their tears and suffering etched on his skin,
He is scarred with our mistakes.
Hater of joy, he lives,
Making the clock gallop as the laughter pours,
The hours are lost behind the happiness,
And all that’s left is foreboding, longing.
His vicious cycle pays heed only to the troubled ones,
Making them wait in pain and suffering,
Stretching time, making their souls older than they are.
But by doing so, he heals,
He slowly but gradually stops the tears,
By offering the dragged hours, he looks after them,
Registers every move,
And gradually their lives are put back into track.
Their existence is scarred, souls aimless,
But they live on, and that’s what matters right?
He is time, and time is all we need,
For love and hope are temporary,
Time with its experience, rules over them,
Without time, they are mere momentary lapse of nerves.
Hidden behind everyone’s story.
He will bring you to life,
And when he feels your time has come,
He will accompany you, till forever and beyond.
For he is the holder of forever,
He is time, the healer.