The Broken Clock

It stands in dust on the mantle high It's hands long still beneath the sky Once it chimes with a golden cheer Marking love, and loss, and every year Now silence pulls where rhythm lays Time forgot to come this way It's face is cracked, brass grown pale A ghost adrift without a sail The hours sleep behind the glass Moments trapped that cannot pass Yet still it holds a kind of grace A memory trapped in times embrace I seen my grandfather wind it tight Her fingers worn, but smiles bright I hear the echo of it's chime The way it sang of borrowed time It may not move, but still it keeps A quiet watch while the household sleeps It's not broken, just transformed with age A silent story on a stage And though it doesn't tick or sway It whispers all it used to say Some things don't need to run to be They live in stillness, proud and free