Time,
investigates reality,
dulls the senses keen to merest pain.
It awards a certain kind of numbness,
yet bestows new tranquility, clarity impartial,
yet befriending no one.
Safeguarding but a few, to the trust of timelessnesss everlasting.
To the wastrell goes the hourglass, with grains of sand a falling to foretell of his coming doom.
Sure to come sooner or later.
Maped out by stars for path, as destiny bides it time, awaiting in life's theatre wings, always on the cards, for the playing of a hand or three, with the cosmic joker supreme.
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