The Timekeeper’s Whisper (Extended)
And it'll keep on extending, verse by verse, until it closes...
Time doesn’t flow like a river—it tightens like crosshairs. Every tick, every tock, it locks in a little closer while you pretend you’re safe.
Most people treat it like background noise, but it’s the war drum. Each beat is a reminder: you don’t have as much left as you think.
When the sand runs low, that’s when people suddenly beg for more. Never at the first grain, only at the last. They’ll cry for mercy when it’s already gone. But the clock doesn’t weep—it just keeps ticking.
We live in a world that measures sorrow, counts down darkness, and medicates the seasons—but rarely acknowledges joy with the same weight. Time doesn’t play favorites. It devours everything equally: smiles, tears, crowns, and cages.
And when correction comes? It’s not rage. It’s math. Angles, distance, timing. The quiet satisfaction that the moment you thought you still had was already gone.
The truth is, people don’t fear the blade—they fear the leash. They’ll curse the fire, but worship the chains that bind them. Only when the last grain falls do they realize the real reaper wasn’t steel at all—it was ignorance.
Tick. Tock. That’s the whisper.
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