The Death of Time

A fearless warrior strewn across the hardened battlefield, Time stands like a gothic giant, slaying all in its path. Tried and tested, but never solemnly challenged, Time is the most mortal of enemies, never giving up and never surrendering. Time cannot be bargained with, negotiated with, pleaded with, or reasoned with. There is no way of "finagling" your way out of Time's death grip. No amount of money has ever bought one second of time! None shall escape the tenacious grasp. All the mighty warriors of the day, no matter how strong, bold, or courageous have eventually succumbed to Time. Time takes on all, young or old, big or small, strong or weak, time simply does not discriminate! With precious little of it available to us, we all would do our best not to squander the gift that we have. Damage being dealt, the effects are permanent, ever scarring and unrelenting, time streaks across your soul like the devil with his flame-tipped-painted pitch fork, for there simply is no evading Time. Psycho as it may be, all simply must succumb to Time's fatal grip. The steady-staccato march of Time traces across your life, your soul, your entire entity, slow and steady, ever present no matter the level of resolve, or the degree of fright. Time will stand alone, undefeated into the grasp of night, the darkness burning, bleeding to your subconscious accepting its inevitable FATE, its purest of heart and present of motive, Time simply is... the answer to all of life's riddles, all of the questions answered shall be witnesses by the entitled deity within, with its omnipotent heart and ominous soullessness, Time stretches the boundaries between Mortal and Immortal, confinement and freedom. Try as we may, we simply cannot outrun, out maneuver, outpace or outfox the tenacity that is time. What is Time? As mortals, we simply are not capable of fully grasping all that is time. We can quantify it, qualify it, name it, obey it and eventually all succumb to it, but we can never fully understand it. All mortals live, breath, exist and die in short pointless lives, ever present behind the watchful force of Time. Who, if any of us, qualify to look time in the face? Who, if any of us, are qualified to defy Time? We do what we can to the best of our capabilities to slow down the onslaught of the deathly march, the inevitable last stanza, the chivalrous prey with final, the end of existence. Until one last effervescent soul, so pure of deeds, so bereft of intention, so benevolent of heart and deep sole purpose that Time will be able to take no grasp, no purpose for such an individual. Time would have no recourse but to re-group, re-compose, and counterattack. The pure mortal soul would present an admirable advisory, one that would upset the victor, to defeat the undefeatable, to truly reproach and de-throne the master. Time would have no choice, no re-course, but to bow to the immortal one. Light shining down from above, the immortal one would taste a victory a billion years in the making, a taste sweeter than the sweetest nectar from the most beautiful flower ever witnessed. The savor would be replete splendor in the immortal ones mouth. For it would be this day that Time would backtrack, taste defeat and retreat across the wasteland it has left in its path. The immortal one, through noble deeds, a heart as pure as the water from the deepest springs and intentions as pure as the lords own tears, rises up triumphant on this very day.