Like the eternal night

And the ethereal day

My mind cannot stop,

Its brakes made of glass.

 

Thinking consistently,

Delicate matters only.

Like ancient clockwork,

Each tick moves harshly.

 

The older the clock becomes,

The harder it is to move the gears.

With no one to grease its sprockets,

It begins to rust.

 

Thoughts begin to slow,

Old age settles in.

My internal clock begins to rust,

Outside begins to degrade.

 

Few ticks are left

In this clock of whimpers.

My tears grease the gears,

Allowing me to move once again.

 

Sadness frees my mind,

Functioning better than before.

This ancient clock

Just found more in store.

 

Refusing to stop,

It begins to rebuild.

Reshaping its entirety,

It carries a new integrity.

 

Stronger than ever,

The ancient clock renewed.

Ticking better than ever,

My thoughts the new power.

 

Thinking lasts eternity,

Powering others who read.

Sharing words of wisdom,

My ancient clock immortalized.