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Tick...
Time has moved on
but I’m standing still...
No matter where I go, I can never run away.
Gray, gray, gray, it’s all gray, everything, gray.
Tock...
They say you're at peace now,
so, I'm sorry if I'm being selfish
for craving just one more memory.
A dreadful keening noise snaked through, escaping into the dark.
Tick...
The hours, they pass me by 
you left so quickly, so hastily you were gone.
Gone, and now all I have left,
is a black and white photograph.
Tock...
I could stare at it for hours
memorize every little detail,
every single one that I had failed to know.
I desire only to burn it into my vision, a reminder even in slumber.
Tick...
I wish to carry that immortal image along with me forever.
To hold it in my heart,
crumple it up and swallow it whole,
let it fill that void that you left behind.
Tock...
When I loved you, I was whole.
I felt like I had a soul,
now all that I have left to carry me on are the stories.
Stories recounted by everyone, everyone but myself.
Tick...
I could stare at it for hours,
seated beneath wilted flowers.
Take back all those hours that I failed to see
just how much you meant to me.
Tock...
I reach up and grasp blindly at an apple.
Wrinkled and sour.
I take a bite and continue to fight,
fight the sorrow that swallows me with every glimpse at that awful stone.
Tick... Tock... Tick... Tock... Tick...
A laugh that used to fill the heart of this home
now falls from my memory.
A silent house, no longer a home.
The only sound, the taunting tick of that crook of a clock.
Tock...
At the end of hallway lies a door,
and through that door I begin to hear her song.
A voice and a breeze,
and a warm warm light.
...
A candle burning thinner by the second,
patient as she sits and waits.
A whisper is all that’s left,
haunting her lips with a song so beautiful.
...
She takes my hands and pulls me in.
When I was a child, I used to fear the dark,
now I let it wrap whole, embracing me in its warmth.
The gentlest of grays...
….
“My chimes of death have rung.
My gears have made their last turn.
The pendulum rests still,
looks like my time is done.
…
Running your hand on the polished oak grain,
the final caress goodbye.
Remember me fondly,
Looks like my time is done.”
Silence...
I look back at that warm grey face in the photo,
I know what that smile is trying to tell me.
Tomorow, I will not shy beneath that sone,
I will lay my flowers on top, and I will return no longer.
I shall spread my wings and take flight, like an owl into the night...
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