The faces of time
Pass by like the ticks of a watch.
Twelve hands, twelve numbers to align
With the fingers that touch
The shimmering marks of this clock.
They chime as they eternally tock.
Decrepit: the fingers set to rot
Against the matter it will defile.

It flies, swift like the eagle in flight.
And although its sands may blind the eyes;
Adding ignorance to sight,
The sea of time flows peacefully and sighs.
Yet, you will always find yourself unable to defy
It no matter how you try, or your reasons why.

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