In a chamber hushed, where shadows creep and cling,
A curious clock, on its pedestal, takes wing.
No forward march of seconds, sharp and bold,
But a gentle sigh, a story to unfold.
Its hands recede, with slow and silent grace,
Erasing lines from time's relentless face.
The dust motes dance, but not to fall and fade,
They rise to mend the fractures time has made.
A wilting rose, its petals soft uncurl,
Reclaiming bloom, a forgotten, vibrant swirl.
Words unsaid, unspoken, whispered soft anew,
Into the silence, where old truths renew.
Memories, once fractured, now seamlessly weave,
As echoes of joy, the heart can now believe.
The tears unfall, returning to the eye,
Leaving no trace of sorrow passing by.
A broken vase, its shards embrace and mend,
To wholeness brought, where journeys softly end.
It ticks in reverse, a phantom, gentle beat,
Undoing all the bitter and the sweet.
A mirror held to what has been and gone,
A silent promise of a re-dawned dawn.
And in its spin, a strange, sweet peace descends,
Where every loss, to its beginning wends.
To live again, not in the future's gleam,
But in the tender, backward-flowing dream.
The clock unwinds, a solace to the soul,
Making fragments, once shattered, whole.
A silent prayer, for time to softly cease,
And grant the heart its long-sought, gentle peace.
About the Creator
The 9x Fawdi
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If You Love Me, You'll Do It
I met Jason when I was five years old. I could say that I loved him from the moment I saw him. He was so handsome to me and I felt in awe by his presence. When they introduced him as the new kid in school, I wanted to be his friend right away. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember his smile and how he didn't seem shy. He appeared confident and ready to learn. I waved at him and said "hello," before anyone else could even say a word. He sat next to me, and I asked him if he wanted to be friends. He looked so happy as he said, "Yes!"
By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
That was beautiful and reminded me of the grandfather clock at my late grandma's place- The swinging eventually ended, making the room freeze, as if time stopped altogether. Only dust hangs in the air. I still get that feeling when I enter that room. Her nittings are still there, as if she's about to walk through the door. What a lovely reminder, thank you :)