The old common arbiter, the healer of all things, the teller of all truths: Time.
You are a god, and I wear your talisman on my arm. I perpetually gaze upon that counterfeit countenance, your potent, ticking charm. The symbol of your omnipotence circles my wrist like a handcuff, binding me to your power.
Time, I am your slave!
You govern my every action; when I rise, when I eat, when I work, when I play. Without you there can be no life, no music, no movement, no breath. My very pulse is enthralled by your ceaseless rhythm. The changing seasons, night and day, the planets in their courses all pay you homage in their ceaseless rounds. All things bow to you, and nothing exists outside your command.
Time, I will never have enough of you.
You work miracles of healing. No wound is repaired without your consent; no heart is mended without your aid. Any task can be accomplished if you bless the work.
You make all things equal, and in the end all things succumb to your hand. Beneath your dread strength, all that is mighty dwindles, all towers fall, all beauty fades. You cannot be moved forward; you cannot be turned back; you cannot be controlled by any power of nature or the will of any being, human or divine.
You reveal all truths, and with your passage, all that is unclear is understood. Your lessons guide the wise, and show the path to those who bide you and discern your good counsel.
Time, I must worship you.