The Lord of Time
In silence he works, a peaceful solitude.
A sanctuary of time, void of time.
The hand ticks and the sand falls, as his hand swiftly applies the ink.
His duty is but a simple one. To record the world as time moves on.
But time does not move on, at least for him.
As one book comes to a close, another is opened.
The cycle continues, forever more.
Balance must be kept.
But what would become of the world if he laid down his pen,
He thought aloud, yet to himself.