Stories From a Grandfather Clock

(The Clock and The Reaper) Time, the adamant adversary of all that breathes and all that can be personified but meets perish at the end of an arduous linger, The crowns of eminent royalty, the sweat of the blue collared, and the blood of the encumbered poor, are made equal, and remain as docile as a sigh within a tornado, by the unvarnished will of destiny's most capricious assassin... Thus all are abated by the face of a clock, a man made object that mildly frightens its creator, for it is not the apparition known as Death, but rather the pretentious beacon which deftly admonishes his existence, to all who wish to prelude his inevitable convocation, Yet none triumph in eluding the bullet of his touch or the chill of his paralyzing presence, for he is a being untainted by remiss Together, the clock and the reaper, are bound by nature, a mother who bore them within the same breath, and binds them without ramification, for once one is piqued by a name, the other is given purpose, thus the verve of the artist, and the scientific mind become nothing again, and the sanctimonious platitudes of the churches, are silenced, along with the indiscretions of the sinners, Therefore, as time and death are capacious beyond infinity, neither will rest until starved by an impasse, thus the parable remains pertinent to all, cherish each minor moment of life, live with the dreams of adolescent imagination, and love with a degree of unforgettable compassion, which can never be made mortal, and by definition, shall forever remain impervious to death's hand, and always pass the test of time.