Those times that go too fast,

or when life seems too slow,

that is the Prince of Time–

watch him go.

His life is lonely,

his body is nonsense,

his castle is nonexistent

for time is but a concept.

He is the only one who knows

nothing but the truth;

it’s his reality, his soul,

and he does not search for proof.

Over his abstract figure

he wears a cape of seconds;

his suit of minutes and  boots of hours

do not compare to his gloves of Reckons.

His eyes stare into oblivion,

something that, which to us, has no form,

but to him it’s eye-catching, enticing,

the calm before the storm.

His scepter of Age constantly glows

simply to catch out attention,

to stop us from ever following him,

and to hinder our comprehension.

He wanders through our realm by himself,

never daring for more,

when one afternoon– or was it evening?–

his castle had an open door.

The Prince of Time crept close

so as to see the outside better,

and there was a sight he had never yet seen:

and that was when he beheld her.

For somewhere it was night,

and the Prince of Time never noticed,

so then was the first he saw the dark sky,

and it was then and there that he sought it.

Because not only was her dress finely made,

it was celestial– it was the fabric of the universe–

no galaxy could possibly compare,

no time, no rate, nor speed you could traverse.

Her hands calmed the dwarf giant planets

and she kept watch over the dust,

her haid hid the stars in her eyes

as she watched iron rust.

Yet neither of the two royals

had lived everything through

and that was all that mattered to them

because there was simply so much to do.

So one day– or night?– on the moon the ceremony was held,

none of the planets nor minutes left a trace,

for it was a marriage of holy matrimony

between the Prince of Time and the Princess of Space.