I am the Collector of Souls (Rough Draft)


father of time,

why must we die

in order for you to live?


Why must we give so much of our

thoughts to your inner workings and clock?

Why can't we go one day without having to worry

about the change, which you have set in motion?


By always feeling this emotion,

and the fear of not being on time,

and what will happen if that deadline is not met;

and always being on the decline,

and always being on the run,

because of you,

father time

I continue to suffer


Because, It is You who truly does rule our lives

with your ever tightening your grip,

never letting up as you continue to abuse us

with your numbers.


With every passing day getting ever closer close our end,

as yours has only just beginning

always there to remind  us of who is in charge

and that are lives are but fading shadows


 AS You Continue to

harvest our souls

and spit us out,

and make us wish

we never wished

to be anything but dead


As You Continue to

make us your slaves,

and make us submit to your domain,

and strip us of everything we love

and leave us with nothing

but of a husk






Author's Notes/Comments: 


Note: Final draft poem, trying to get the flow of the poem together.

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