Entries for the Construct Cup Version 2.0!!! |
The Holder of the Glass Perched on his carven heartwood cathedra, the wizened man with tangled hair sat before his ink stained desk and pondered the hourglass standing there. Made of bronze and hammered gold, holding globes of leaded glass the grains within of storied numbers fell top to bottom as time did pass. Only he knew each persona, that each whit of sand was earthen soul, only he controlled the passing of their lives, in part and whole. He could, if he wanted to, tip the glass and slow the tide or beat the clock upon the table rushing death and eroding pride. Too often when he peered below opalescent cloud beneath his keep he'd see how clocks controlled their moments, how they'd live in walking sleep. He'd hear them bewail their missing moments or how they'd wanted to turn back a page and live again a stolen moment, go back to a time of younger age. He shook his head and locks of grey fell in his eyes and to the floor knowing that when he gifted those moments he stole from them days to the fore. They never knew, and never missed them for if their dying came oversoon they were dead and wouldn't know that they'd paid dearly for his boon. With each plea granted he'd gain a strand of hair of bronze or golden hue. Stolen time would smooth his wrinkles, milk-white eyes again turned blue. Days he'd steal, moments, years from those that squandered, wasted time, wondering if they'd ever realize he was the Poet, he wrote the rhyme., In doing this, he wrote of choices: each grain of sand was jewel unformed: the irritations that went with living squished in embryonic storm. Given a specified number of moments, given a home, each their own world how many would simply erode away and how few would choose to be the pearl. Over the years, he'd too learned lessons: of time and seasons, each with its place. Even he has his Keeper and time passes better spent with grace. For nothing, save one, will live forever, thus time needs to savored, wasted not, used, enjoyed, and yes, remembered as each grain spends the time it's got. For lessons learned gift precious moments, As he well knows, time can stand still-- eons exist between two heartbeats most won't find them, others will. The time before a loved one leaves passes too quickly, he's heard folks say and the time before they again come home takes forever, drags day by day. He ponders another grain dropping though and thinks how relative time can be; the old thinking it that shrinks, compresses, the young seeing it stretch to eternity. His mind wanders back, millennium many that he's been ticking off year after year, finds his eyes begin to water, reaches up and wipes at single tear. His eye begins to feel quite scratchy, he pokes at it with fine-boned hand and fishes out with one slim finger a tiny, sparkling grain of sand. His Keeper arrives, says don't be worried, Time, my friend can never die. And then the Keeper sends the grain to birth a star in endless sky. Beneath his ermine cloak, the Master withdraws a child to take the place of the erstwhile Hourglass holder, for even Time renews its pace. With glee the child shakes the sands, rolls the glass upon its side, stands it up and flips it over, unscrews the lid and peers inside. Then he sets it down upon the table where it shimmers in the sun, Starts to learn the souls within it TimeKeeper's reign has thus begun. And at night the child looks up to the heavens, finds newest star keeps the glass there in the star's light watches lightning in the jar. Subject: Time Turner Words to use: Cloud, squish Words to avoid: (None) Additional Criteria: Min 25 lines. |