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(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.

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