Ticking Clocks
Location
His face is intricate, ancient, dusty
Ominous numbers loom in the distance, sprouting up like a city tower
The old man smells of wisdom: subtle and musty
He stands boldly in a corner, watching, ticking, always in power
Menacing hands groping toward forever
Like a ballerina spinning round on tp toe
They are twins lost in a never ending game of tag, stopping never
Listen closely and you can hear, the soft, "tick-tock" of their feet across the waxy paper as they go
Time drags on, people getting older
The pendulum meticulously swinging, never missing a beat
The glaring gaze, the soothing melody, a deadly combinatin you cannot help but meet
Wilting away the moments that make up a lifetime
Your breathing becomes strained, the hands seem to slow, the old man mourning you
But he knows time stops for no one as you take your last breath, and so he continues to chime
The clock rings twelve, smiling and proud, thinking of the life you once knew