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
Copyright © Aliza Marquez | Year Posted 2025
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