Death is in it for Sport

Run, insignificant ones. Run!
You're all the same, though you claim individuality. To me, you are all grains of sand underfoot, as I continue in my inexorable march through the ages.
Yes, run! Boredom will not dissuade me, as long as you continue to run.
My presence etches itself into your miserable hides, and still, you think you can escape me.
You will all be touched by my hand, as I cross the besotted plains of humanity; there's no escape, no matter what you're told.
Bravery can do nothing but shorten my enjoyment of the hunt.
Please, don't acquiesce; run!