RomanNumerals
Do you hear the echoes of that long-forgotten fall?
Where first we danced amongst the leaves, and laughed as children do.
Where space and time was but a phrase, ephemeral to you.
Before you lay upon a bed, entrapped within your mind.
Before the only happiness was what we had, but could not find.
When all around was darkness, and no one heard your cry.
When every truth, though shining, was buttressed by a thousand lies.
Who was there to hold your hand, when you could not squeeze back?
Who was there to comfort you when future times looked black?
And on the clock forever races, marking time towards the end.
Know though, that I love you, wait for me there, my friend.
They say that immortality is a gift, but it's not, it's a curse.
To be able to help those in need is a joy, of course, but to know that every time you get close to someone,
they will die, to you in a mere blinkof an eye, means that I cannot, dare not, get too close to anyone.
I have no name, nor any constant face, at least none that my temporary companions will ever see, or ever know.
I am the shadowy figure at the bedside of the old, the sick, the dying.
Pray you cannot see me, because if you can, well, you may be in need of my services.
I call myself 'Rom', short for 'Roman Numerals', an affectation, I admit, but one that I encourage.
I am the thirteenth chime, the unknown hour that sits beside midnight, it's parallel.
And I am very pleased to meet you.