The Clock With No Time

The Clock With No Time

The clock sat still,

numbers missing entirely,

its blank white face

ticking without purpose.

Time stretched strangely

whenever I stood near it,

thin as thread

around my thoughts.

Sometimes it paused,

not broken, just thinking,

choosing which moment

to let pass next.

One night it reversed,

hands spinning backward slowly,

nudging memories awake

I wanted left behind.

The air shifted faintly,

pulling tight around my chest,

as though the room itself

held its breath.

The ticking changed tone,

soft then loud,

like the clock struggled

to find the right rhythm.

Its hands stilled finally,

resting without guidance,

and the silence grew heavy

as falling snow.

Then the clock resumed again,

steady as a heartbeat,

as though time itself

had returned from wandering.