A mysterious essence around us
Men has long speculated on its form
But was doomed never to find its secrets
One could never escape its grim clutches

The great, the weak, the old and the young ones
All are equal and subject to its whim
One could only possibly have so much
Before we all meet again at twilight

Is it benevolent, or is it vile?
It drives us to the brink of sanity
And back, and again; with no compassion
Indiscriminately buried by time.

P.S. Iambic pentameter is not easy… Sigh…


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