I am not the keeper of it,
though they say it’s mine.
Never has its possession been noted;
Not once have I stumbled over its heft.

It’s constantly measured,
With precision, on a universal scale.
Though I’ve never met its tallyman.
I’ve seen his henchmen on many a wall,
Spotted his disciples on numerous wrists,
So that they may display infinite increments.

Naught interrupts its flow.
Despite the metaphors, it does not cease–
Does not falter when presented with beauty,
Does not blink when confronted with loss.
Is not affected by feast or famine.
Yet it strikes down every individual.



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