History speaks of a thousand wars
Fought in kingdoms near and afar,
Empires rise and empires fall,
Yet against one enemy, we all feel small.
The best swordsman can bleed him not,
No archer ever gets him shot,
No warrior with a hundred scars,
No general with a lot of stars,
Has ever touched him; nor will ever
Although an armour he puts on never.
Call your allies, befriend your foe,
Yet before him, you seem to feel low.
No cannonball nor catapult stones
Can scratch his skin, save reach his bones.
The shrewdest assassin he does not fear,
No spy has the courage to get too near.
The most generous treaty he will not sign;
Even if he’s offered wealth, women and wine.
He simply sits and moves his hands,
He has no voice and still he commands.
His ways are evil, he only moves on—
And before you know it, you’re old and gone.
He is alone — he is all in one;
There is no moment when he hasn’t won.
The ultimate battle (no more can I rhyme)
Is the battle against Immortal Time…
QUESTION: Does the dramatic relief in the second last line (within the parentheses) spoil the seriousness of the poem?
