A myriad of green and jasper preside.
Amalgamations of technicalities contride.
Dealings with high affairs expand and contract,
but liability is not mine, in fact.
Muddy depictions are ever so delightful,
yet your perception resides me spiteful.
Why should I let my skill be untold,
when it’s their lack of insight that makes it unfold?
A realm bequeath of old, I am no subject to time,
Only by my words I am confined.
Manipulation is what they call my actions,
but me? I call it advanced distraction.
Take me as I am, I do dare,
For it’s all yours, the responsibility to bare.
You agree to give your time, to hear out my plea?
Let this illusion unfold amongst thee.
You must wonder, when do I meet my end?
Every story must eventually meet its trend.
Time commands forward when all the stakes intertwine,
For absolute retribution resolves to fall on I.
What name do they give us? Of course, the fae.
Our power lies in what we say.
Although at first glance there is no plight,
The actual resolution lies in observed sight.
The clock stops precise, your moment is due,
You don’t think our meeting’s for no reason, do you?
Specificities are not your strong suit, such an obvious sign,
as the rest of your due time is now mine.
Image credits: Goutham Krishna (Unsplash)
