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The Death of Grandfather Clock
I am quite annoyed by the ticking, or perhaps it's called 'tocking,' by the ever-present clicking in a language known as 'clocking.' Must Grandfather Time command my life? He so rudely continues without a thought that his hammering rhythm of strife mocks the pulse of my human heart. What a wild fantasy my life would be to exist without his relentless beat. If time could but stand still for me, the silence would be so sweet. In solace of night I close my eyes and seek escape from earthly chore. I cannot find a tranquil paradise for his gong peals out once more. Each quarter hour he calls to me as if singing a monotonous song. But his tune is never a rhapsody. Incessant verses are much too long. I am eager to stop his wagging tongue and shackle the swing of his pendulum. Each hour would then go by unsung. At last he'd know his time had come.
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Book: Shattered Sighs