Time and tide waits for no man.

I call it the lucid interval of men. It strikes without mercy and comes without warning. When the dimenson of time decides to play foul, no one can stop her.

Such is life, is it not?
They zoom past me without a second glance. I hear them all mocking me. He is but man and we are but time. Let us roll on the floor laughing at his pitiful attempts to salvage what remains. We will scavenge every hour, every minute, every second and leave him floating in the abyss of the helplessly amiss.
The weeks. So, so fast they fly by the protagonist that is me. The hope of the morrow become the bygones of yesteryear. I have been ripped and it is not the body or soul that has perished but rather it is time abundant that has forsaken me. I am the driftwood of confusion swirling in the whirpool of eternal dusk. The dawn that must cometh never arrive and the darkness that we evade never ever leave.
God help us all.