the Master of Time

he stood there,
with hands folded behind him.
a smirk on his face
a flash of brilliant devilry
with eyes sharper than eagles
and tongue forked with poison
he slithers and sucks
and slyly slithers.

where be your horcrux! Lich?,
your glass that keepst the hour trickling?
and that power that slows the seconds?

but what there?
an infernal contract,
signed with not ink nor blood,
but with push-ups yes.
five a minute.
w'lets see shall we?
how many more the ending till.

1,353,600 push ups.

and with that he turned to dust.