The Slumber Of Seasons

The Slumber of Seasons,
Waiting patiently at my door.
Wake my child, Your time is up.

As I lie in the final moments of time,
My thoughts become clear.
Who am I, and why am I here?
There is no need for pondering and wandering,
For death is near.

I speak to him in a whisper,
For I do not want to interrupt the lives I have past,
And although the number is vast,
I wish to be remembered,
As the man who did not give up hope, and just spoke
When his mind was clear.

For I, am just a false entity.