Grandfather Clock

I am born, and you are new, but you have always been. Your spinning hands never stop, your wood is as fresh as ever, but I do not notice this. I am ignorant to it, until I am no longer looking up at you, but staring you right in the face. Looking in the face of your enemy is terrifying, especially when your foe is immortal, invincible, and unstoppable. You rot me. While you run, I am wasted. Your bell gongs, and gongs, and gongs, and it will gong, even when I clearly wish to stop you. Just to get a little time for myself. I have to beat you, grandfather clock, before it is too late. It seems like you do not want me to do what I need to do. The clock is ticking. I am running out of time. But I have begun to realize, as you run, as you gong, as you tick, I get stronger. I get better. And I will get better. And I am catching up.