Time

Time is inexorable, our defined perpetual machine.  Animals care not, nature takes not note.  A perpetual machine not harnessed, but which, perhaps, tethers us.  We are bound to it, bound through it. Our world is not dualistic, though we phrase it so. Darkness is not equal and opposite light; good is not equal and opposite evil; cold is not heat's antithesis.  Aristotle posited a third option we oft forget: the Aristotelian Golden Means.  While this concept existed prior, Aristotle phrased it with clarity: everything in moderation, including moderation.
Yet, this ideal does not preclude dualistic scenarios. Sometimes, there's no twilight between night and dark; no middle tide between high and low, and our choices entertain only two antithetical trails.  But time is an interesting quandary, a quantity that relatively feels both quick and drawn.  A youth in love frets at fleeting moments; while the destitute in trial languishes as each moment passes in excruciating sluggishness.
Then there are those moments which pass with equal disdain for each, moments racing by in slow motion. Where seconds effortlessly pass, too slow, too fast. We are cursed, we are blessed, and many things in between.
So, as intermittent time sweeps on by, in drifting dreams and midnight tides, join the sweeping chorus of creation as it sighs and sings, sleeps and dreams, in endless, shifting time.