You beguile with binds of power unknown.
Unending plague of perpetual persistence,
To deny your omnipotence is to die alone.
To fight you would be a fallacy,
For your reach is beyond your creator's grasp.
Imaginary foe of human fancy,
holding human life in inhumane grasp.
So cruel and yet forgiving,
With tides and moons to measure,
Taking chances with no hope of reliving
yet trading pain for eventual pleasure.
For all your malice but one virtue,
Without your promise of expiration,
The gift of life would be untrue,
instead a death of procrastination.
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