A Quarter Till Midnight
A maker of clocks shares a secret
That only a few can know
For he alone decides your fate
With a clock that steals your soul
This village of twenty thousand
Gets smaller everyday
For when the clock strikes midnight
Another will pass away
A deal was made with the devil
For a clock that was made of gold
And all who dared to live there
Would simply never grow old
The clock maker was the oldest
That the village had ever known
The people would pay for the clock maker's sins
With their souls they must atone
The devil had promised a soul for a soul
So the clock maker is two hundred and eight
But the rest of the village doesn't live to see forty
For the clock maker decides their fate
A quarter til midnight a name is drawn
From a box that's shrouded in black
The angel of death leads them away
Never to bring them back
The next time you see the clock maker
Be sure to ask him his age
But if he smiles as the clock strikes twelve
Prepare to pay his wage
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
