The Protector

“Isn’t it interesting,”
The voice hums in the abyss,
Formless, empty,
But deep and malicious.
Lumbering nearer to the Protector,
Hovering o’er his shoulder,
Curling ‘round his neck, it wails high and long,
“I have it so much easier than you,
Even though I was the one after. Ha ha—ha ha.
Now I beat you, each second. Each moment.
That still ticks on, achingly by.”
Tempting fingers toys his pulse,
But the Protector ignores;
His mouth is set, face so grim,
As Death murmurs, soft as silk,
“You’re too slow, Life. Learn to be quick.
Your fault is your years—your time—
—you build. They take too long,
This you try and craft.
A well-lived Life can be muffled,
Blown out—just in a puff,
A whiff, a slice,
Oh, so gleefully fast.”
But Life—Protector—Light and Hope
Answers not to dark Death’s taunts.
There’s no need—for how can speed
Understand the gardens and seasons?
“The problem is people give up on you.
So soon, so timely, so easily.
Because you’re too hard. Too long. Too slow.
So tell me, enlighten me, dear Brother,
What really is it you are trying to do?”
And Life—Protector—Light and Hope
Turned that moment,
Regal and strong, with shoulders aligned,
And answered the Silence,
As if he’d waited for this all along.

The End

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