Time is a pressence

almost that of air.

I know it's there, but I can't see it.

Time is a temptress

almost that of a toddler.

I should say no, but I give it what it wants.

Time is a wonder 

almost that of the supernatural. 

I know it unbelieveable, but I believe anyways.

Every second, every minute, every hour,

Time is playing with us, his chess pawns,

to do as he wills in his little game of life.

He winds us down to our bitter end. 

And builds us up to our glittering peak.

We only ever do as Time wishes. 

We are at his mercy.