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.
The sands flow like salty water, Down the thin waist to the opposite ends. Denoting the passage of time, and punctuating it. In fragments of the beach, and silicon from the earth. seconds pulsate, from atomic clocks. Hourglass sands fall and flow into arbitrary heaps. Ways of chronology lost to antiquity. One must ponder, Did time flow the same, for humans before the age of automation?