Time won’t slow or make haste.
Time won’t hold up, wait up or make up for what you’ve gained and lost.
Whether you built an empire or dug a hole to bury your head.
Time stands indifferent.
Whether you measured in seconds, minutes or hours.
The sands slip effortlessly through fingers, all the same.
Saint or sinner, coward or martyr, protagonist or antagonist.
Time weighs you on grounded scales, cares not for your judgement and will pass nothing but itself.
You can wear it on your wrist, pin it to the wall or mark the shadows slow creep.
Then question who is watching who and which one is being kept.
Time, spent lavishly by those who believe the East will burn and the West ember, perpetually.
That this river cannot run dry on them.
Inevitably, one day the sun will place you centre stage.
Maroon you in a moment, strip you of every illusion.
Murder the theatrics and incinerate your mind.
Time will be seated and present at this spectacle.
The curtain will fall and Time will sit.
The lights will die and Time will sit.
The curtain will rise and another will take the stage.
Time will sit.
Why so many failed to rehearse, for this final performance.