Clocks

The clocks are ticking
The face that does not see
The hands that do not hold
Precious moments passing by silently
The end is drawing near
The breath slows
The eyes close
The hands fall lifelessly
The face that does not see
The hands that do not hold
Time waits for no one
The clocks are ticking


Yes, that is a poem written by yours truly. Do not ask why, it just fell from my pen one night. Time seems to lurch to a stop, and then when you least expect it, take flight like a white winged dove fleeing for her life. And we are powerless to stop it. The world turns, the dawn rises like thunder, the night sweeps in like the tide. I continue to build the walls. No one will break them this time. I will not let myself become as vulnerable as I once was. Never again.

And I don't think I can handle this at all. If you ever did believe for my sake...