The Watch of Time

The Watch of Time

Upon my wrist, a silent guide,
A ticking heart I cannot hide.
Each second falls like drops of rain,
A steady beat, a sweet refrain.

The watch, a circle bound by fate,
A quiet face that will not wait.
Its hands move slow, yet never rest,
A silent judge, a subtle test.

Tick, tock — a whisper, soft and near,
A voice that none but time can hear.
It marks the dawn, the noon, the night,
A constant pulse of dark and light.

The golden hand, a fleeting spark,
It sweeps the day from light to dark.
The silver hand, a patient thread,
Weaving dreams where fears have bled.

It counts the moments lost and found,
The silent minutes spinning round.
The past, a shadow left behind,
The future, hidden in the mind.

A watch does not ask why or how,
It only lives within the now.
No pause, no break, no backward glance,
A timeless waltz, a quiet dance.

It watches lovers come and part,
And carves a scar in every heart.
It knows the joy of birth's embrace,
And counts the tears on sorrow's face.

For time, though small upon my skin,
Holds every world, both out and in.
The watch, a humble, ticking rhyme,
Reminds me I am bound by time.

So while its hands go round and round,
I'll chase my dreams, unchain the sound.
For though the watch may count each chime,

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