Fading

Voices carry, interpretations may vary. 
In my world I feel as though nobody has met me.
Met in the sense to get down to my roots.
Roots by all means are what define my depths.
However by depths, I mean to get to know me, in every respect.
For no one has ventured past the gates of my throbbing heart.
Nor the doors of my soul,
cobwebbed in solitude and enclosed by the dark.
I am reminiscent of a field and from my body crops can grow.
However all i’ve ever encountered,
have just scarcely dug up the surface,
and left me seedless but with a plethora of holes.
My time has barely started
but at the same time, pursued close by it’s end. 
I guess you can say, time is one damn, half-hearted friend. 
In my life, i’m always dangling over what is my eternal fate,
and at the same time walking on the ground,
hoping that the reaper will be late.